


Flamefoil

by Rosa_abo (Rosawyn)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bathing/Washing, Birth Control, Dubious Consent, Fictional Religion & Theology, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Heat Suppressants, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Loyalty, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medieval Medicine, Military, Non-derogatory use of the c-word, Oral Sex, Secrets, Vaginal Sex, first heat, omega Brock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosa_abo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock, an omega who's been passing as a beta most of his life, goes into his first heat.  He <i>hates</i> it.  Thankfully, his best friend and roommate is able to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Огнецвет](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921042) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



The icy rain whipped what it could reach of Brock's face and abused his already chilled hands as he rapped harder than he usually would against the wood of Raina's door. The harsh howl of the wind and the intermittent peals of thunder filled his ears and he wondered if Raina had heard the knock. His hood wavered in the chill wind as he considered knocking once more. And maybe he himself was shaking a bit, from cold or fear or both. Finally, the latch slid and the door opened.

“Brock,” the small dark woman said, smiling welcome up at him as she swung the door inwards to admit him. Only the lamp in her hand and the warm yellow light from the top of the narrow staircase illuminated them as she carefully closed and bolted the door behind him. It had once bothered him that she knew and used his name, but he'd grown accustomed to it. As herbalist and healer (and some said witch), it was necessary that she know his secret—less so that she know his name, but as the head of the king's personal strikeforce, that was inevitable. Since he still held the position, thus far she had proved trustworthy. Turning, she motioned for him to follow her up the stairs. As if he hadn't done this every month for the past three years. As if he couldn't have sleep-walked through their meetings.

“I worried you were asleep,” Brock said as he pulled back his hood, shaking the worst of the rainwater onto the mat before following her up the stairs, their footsteps somehow both sharp and quiet against the stone.

“It's not that late,” Raina assured him. She held the lamp cradled in both hands as she climbed. There was no railing, anyway, just two smooth stone walls. Pushing aside the embroidered curtain at the top of the stairs, she moved into her little chamber, placing the lamp on a dark wood table. The fire crackled boldly in the hearth, warming an iron cauldron of something—likely soup or stew from the smell. Sighing and brushing her hands over her apron, she turned to face him. “I do have some bad news, I'm afraid.”

“Bad news?” Brock couldn't help a grimace as he seated himself in a high-backed wooden chair—considering the reason for his visit, 'bad news' from Raina could be disastrous.

Moving to the caldron, she stirred it meditatively for a moment, and when she spoke, her eyes were on the bubbling concoction. “There has been a blight on the flamefoil that grows in the Wolf Jaw mountains. Far too few plants remain unaffected to risk harvesting any more at this point—we'll have to wait for next year to see how well it recovers.” Sickness swirled in Brock's gut. This really _was_ bad. She turned her sympathetic dark eyes on him. “I am currently looking into other sources, including the cultivated herbs from Genosha, but they are both less potent and far more costly to import.”

Brock swallowed. “I don't care.” His voice was rough, so he cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I'll pay whatever it costs.”

Raina nodded, expression understanding. “But unfortunately, I don't have any flamefoil at present. I sold my last four days ago, before I'd heard tell of the blight.” Of course Brock couldn't demand to know the identity of the customer—not only did he very much understand the value of privacy in such matters, but whoever it was no doubt had already taken it all.

“And your merchant contact,” Brock said, trying to keep his voice level, “had no flamefoil of any kind? At any price?” If this had been less than four days ago, it was possible Brock could track the merchant down.

Raina shook her head. Turning her gaze back to her cauldron, she resumed stirring. “She said the theory amongst those at the university is that the Mother has cursed the plant due to our selfish overuse.” She turned her head, gaze finding Brock again. “You might not be aware, but there has not been a single reported alpha or omega child born in the entire kingdom this past year.”

Brock blinked, rubbing at his still rain-damp eyebrows. He cared very little what some deity thought or wanted, especially if she was cursing the plant that had allowed him the life he wanted—a life of freedom. Sure, yes, _fine_ : omega and alpha children were important. How else would the world continue to have omegas and alphas at all? But it wasn't _his_ responsibility to personally repopulate a kingdom with little alphas and omegas. He frowned. “I doubt the King's Consort has been taking flamefoil—at least not with the King's knowledge or consent.”

Raina nodded, lips turning up slightly at the sides. “It seems unlikely, yes.” It would also be unlikely that the King's Consort could _get_ flamefoil, even if he wanted to; he rarely left the castle, and never unguarded.

Brock let out a rough breath, leaning forward and scratching at the damp hair on the back of his neck. “If I go into heat, I'll lose my position—I'll lose everything.”

Raina's eyes were sympathetic, the set of her mouth pained. “The best I can do is offer you blue nettle to suppress the scent of the heat—and of course, continue with blackmarrow as well—and bloodhep to prevent pregnancy.” Brock stared at her. Probably for too long, because she eventually said, “Just in case you...”

“I know.” Gods, he did know. This, after all, was why omegas weren't allowed to wander free like betas could. An omega in heat could drive all unbonded—and even some bonded—alphas who scented them into a frenzy. Not that an omega in heat supposedly ever _minded_ much. Brock honestly wouldn't know; he'd been taking flamefoil every month without fail since he was fifteen. He'd never actually gone into heat, though he'd felt the stirrings of pre-heat enough to know he was already there this time. He shook his head. “Thank you.” Swallowing and clearing his throat, he tried to keep his voice from shaking. “I'll take the blue nettle and bloodhep.”

Raina nodded, moving to her cupboard and taking out a small vial and a bottle large enough just to fill her small hand. “The bloodhep you need only take once—drink all that's in the vial and chase it with a full cup of water. Take it once you're in full heat, but _before_ you let an alpha on you.” She pressed the vial into his hand. “The blue nettle you must brew into tea. It doesn't need to steep long, but the water should turn blue before you drink it. Some people find it more palatable with a bit of honey added. That's up to you; the honey won't hurt anything. You should start drinking it now, as you're already in pre-heat.” His eyes snapped up to hers, but she gently explained: “I've more experience with detecting the scent than most alphas—they shouldn't smell it on you for another two or three days, so you've got time now to let the blue nettle do its work so that they don't get a chance.” She pressed the bottle into his other hand. “Drink a full cup three times a day. You can drink it cold if you prefer. Remember to keep yourself hydrated as well: drink lots of water.”

“Thank you.” With slightly shaking hands, he slipped both containers into a belt-pouch, tightening the drawstring securely. He fumbled for his money bag. “How much do I owe you?”

“Two silvers for the blue nettle,” Raina told him. “The bloodhep I'm giving you in apology for not having any flamefoil.”

“Oh.” Brock nodded. He wasn't about to argue. He pulled two silvers from his bag and held held them out. As she accepted them, he said, “Wait.” He shook his head as she looked questioningly from the coins in her palm to his face. “How will I know when I'm in full heat?”

Slipping the coins in the pocket of her apron, Raina considered him for a moment. “You've never been in heat?” He shook his head. Her expression morphed into one of pained pity. Sinking into a nearby chair, she folded her hands on her knees. “First heats are always hard, but at your age...” She shook her head again, pressing her lips together. “I imagine it's going to be brutal.”

Brock rubbed a hand back through his damp curls, shifting his weight in the chair. He sighed. “Great.”

“You'll know you're in full heat once you're experiencing all the symptoms to the point where they're uncomfortable,” Raina explained. “Uncomfortable to the point that you can't focus on anything else for longer than a moment or two.”

Brock grimaced, nodding to show he understood. “And, uh, what are all the symptoms?” This was probably something he should know, but since he'd been living as a beta, it really hadn't been relevant.

“Fever and sweating,” Raina replied without any indication that she felt he was stupid for not knowing, “headache, cramping in your belly, tingling or burning in your genitals—I'm sure you've felt arousal before?” He nodded, and she continued: “Like that, but more. Worse. Far more insistent.” He made a face. That was one symptom he'd heard quite a lot about; it was often a joke in the barracks among the alphas and even—or sometimes especially—the betas: how eager and desperate an omega in heat was, how they'd writhe and beg. “Of course, you'll produce slick—enough to soak through your clothes and likely your bedding as well.” Brock grimaced. _None_ of this sounded pleasant, but just...yuck. On top of everything _else_ , he needed to make a terrible mess too. “And you'll also be more sensitive to the scent of alphas,” Raina continued. Right. That was going to be loads of fun, since he bunked with one. “You'll likely find some alphas both soothing and alluring while others will repulse you—if an alpha is nearby, you'll have great difficulty focusing on anything other than their scent. Of course, it's probably best to avoid all alphas as much as possible.”

Brock made a face, shoving both hands back through his hair. “I share quarters with an alpha.”

Raina offered him a sympathetic expression, putting a gentle hand on his knee. “If you tell him you're sick, maybe he'll agree to sleep elsewhere, to avoid you until you are well.”

“Right, yeah.” Brock nodded. “He wouldn't want to get sick too if he thinks I'm contagious.” It might work. There was a chance, anyway.

As he stood to leave, Brock offered Raina an attempt at a blithe sort of smile. “If you don't see me again, I guess you'll know why.” Then he paused, frowning again. “How long after this heat will I have another if I don't get more flamefoil? I mean, assuming I still have a job after this, when should I come see you again?”

“Heats usually happen every six to twelve months for male omegas,” Raina answered. “But everyone is different, and heats can be erratic; I'd recommend seeing me in a month, just to be safe. If I don't have flamefoil yet—” She winced, expression sympathetic. “—at least I can offer you more blue nettle and bloodhep.”

“Unless the Mother curses the bloodhep too?” Brock offered her a crooked smile that was a good part grimace.

Drawing near, Raina put a hand on his arm. “Bloodhep is far more plentiful and widespread. Let's both hope it continues to be.”

Brock nodded. “Yeah.” He tried to smile again, grateful. “And, uh, thanks for everything.”

o0o

On his way back to the barracks through the still miserable and even colder rain, a flickering light in a window caught Brock's eye. It wasn't so strange for a window or two to still have light, but this one was right by the street, at eye-level, and the light was from a pair of candles on the windowsill rather than from inside the room. The candles flanked a glossy dark reddish-brown statue of a naked woman with large breasts and a larger belly, round hips, thick thighs, full lips, and a rich mane of braids reaching more than halfway down her back. About her feet were placed offerings of beeswax, rosebuds, a handful of barley, and a bunch of cranberries.

Brock pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders as he paused, looking at the small shrine. “My Lady,” he said quietly, feeling somewhat foolish to be talking to a statue, even though he knew the goddess herself could hear through such a conduit. Or so they said. Brock had never been one for much religious observance. In any case, it probably couldn't hurt. “Revered Mother. I—I'd really appreciate it if you let me off the hook here. If you want to bless someone with a child, I know King Alexander would be really pleased to get an alpha heir. You could even bless the Consort with a set of twins: one alpha, one omega. Make everyone happy.”

The candle flames flickered in the wind.

Well, the goddess had heard—or should have, anyway. Brock didn't have any appropriate item for an offering, and this was someone's personal shrine anyway. He sighed. Perhaps she could be swayed by the strength of his argument, by reason. Perhaps he'd only manged to draw her attention and made himself a target for her ire. There was little he could do about any of it now.

o0o

When Brock finally walked through the door to his quarters, peeling off his wet cloak and shaking it over the stone floor, Jack was lying back on his bunk with a book propped against his drawn up knee. The open page displayed a knight in a red cape battling a gold and green scaled dragon. Jack's eyes flicked up as Brock closed the door behind himself, shaking his cloak once more before hanging it on a peg. Jack's brows twisted in confusion touched with concern. “Where the hell were you?”

“Out,” Brock grunted, shuffling to his own bunk as he stripped off his tunic as well—fat lot of good his cloak must have done when his tunic was that cold and damp against his skin. Slumping down on the edge of his bunk he pulled off his boots. “Seeing a girl.”

Jack snorted softly, eyes returning to his book. “Figures. Some of the guys have been saying you've got an omega girl, all secret like.” He snorted again, softer this time. “Not sure why it'd have to be a girl, though I suppose the were right about that part anyway.”

Brock wrinkled his nose at his sore feet as he wiggled his toes to get the feeling back into them. “She's a healer.” Jack hummed, turning a page. “I've been coming down with something,” Brock continued, “and she says I'm probably contagious.” Jack hummed again. “So if you wanted to sleep somewhere else...” There was always a free bed or two in the main part of the barracks. Even if it was a lot louder, messier, and stinkier than the nice little officers' quarters Brock and Jack shared.

“Nah,” Jack said, looking up from his book once more. “I've got my tough alpha constitution—shouldn't be bothered by stuff you weak little betas pick up.” Brock made a face at him, and he just laughed. Sure, Jack was taller than him and probably also stronger. But the fact remained that Brock outranked him. Jack did, however, show proper respect in the field and during training sessions and in the presence of the King... So Brock could tolerate this sort of cheek when they were alone. It wasn't hurting anyone. “And anyway,” Jack continued, “we've got that mission we're supposed to go on tomorrow—if you're not up to going, you'll probably be better by the time the rest of us get back.”

The mission. Brock had honestly forgotten all about it, but it could be his salvation. His true heat would only last maybe three days, so if he was close enough now and the mission took long enough... “How long was that one supposed to take?”

Jack made an unimpressed grunt, turning another page in his book—it wasn't a book with a lot of words, mostly pictures. It was the kind of book Jack liked best. The kind Brock liked best too, if he was honest. “You're the one who planned the whole thing out, and you're asking me.” He sighed, closing the book and setting it aside. His eyes narrowed as he considered Brock who now sat curled up on his bunk with his blankets wrapped around himself like a cocoon, shivering and rocking slightly. “You really are sick, aren't you?”

Brock pulled the blanket tighter about his shoulders. “Guess so.”

“Well, if you can't get out of bed,” Jack said, picking up the book again, “you can always get one of the pages to bring you soup and all that. And bring you fresh linens if you need them. Maybe ask for only alpha pages, so they don't get sick.”

Brock snorted softly. One thing he most certainly was _not_ going to request was alpha pages. Even if they were all too young to actually do anything, he'd rather not risk one figuring it out and blabbing to everyone.

But...oh. He was supposed to be making tea. That'd help him warm up too. He retrieved his belt from where he'd thoughtlessly dropped it on the foot of the bed. At least he hadn't dropped it on the floor. What he _really_ didn't need was to break to vial of bloodhep. Raina would have more, but he couldn't very well wander out into the town during his heat. Even if he was downing as much blue nettle and blackmarrow tea as humanly possible. He'd be soaking his trousers with slick, for one thing.

He frowned down at the small bottle of blue nettle in his hands. Raina hadn't said if it was safe to mix blue nettle with blackmarrow or if they needed to be brewed separately. Best not to risk it. Making his way across the room to the fireplace, he shook a bit of the dried blue nettle leaves and flowers into the kettle, added water, and hung it over the fire in the grate.

“Tea's a good idea if you're sick,” Jack commented. “Especially when you've just been out in that rain.”

Brock grunted. “Shouldn't you be asleep? Early start tomorrow and all.”

Jack chuckled. “Big strong alpha like me only needs about four hours of sleep.”

Brock rolled his eyes. It might be _true_ , though; alphas always had so much energy; it was why they made such great warriors. He sat on a stool by the fire as the water heated. It was warmer so near the flames, but he still pulled his blanket tight about his shoulders, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Do you need anything else?” Jack asked, turning a page. “Someone'll still be in the kitchens at this hour if you want me to grab you something.”

Brock considered that as he stared into the flames. It couldn't hurt to encourage Jack to spend less time in their quarters, and a trip to the kitchen might finally tire him out enough that he'd go to sleep. But Brock's queasy stomach was unlikely to accept much without returning it. “Maybe some broth?” He was supposed to stay hydrated, after all.

Setting aside his book once again, Jack slid off his bunk. “Sure thing.”

The kettle was finally boiling by the time Jack returned, and Brock moved it away from the flames so it could cool and steep.

“Brought a cup,” Jack said, placing it on the low table next to Brock, “since I wasn't sure we had any clean ones. And of course the broth.” He set that on the table as well, a tureen with a carry handle, so Jack hadn't needed a tray. “And some wine,” Jack added, setting the decanter on the table. He shrugged. “Figured you could use a bit to help warm your fingers and toes.”

“You don't actually have to coddle me,” Brock grumbled, shifting on the stool so he could reach for the tureen. When he lifted the lid, the smell of beef and spices wafted out, making his mouth water. He took a sip from the spoon that'd been hooked to the side of the tureen. It was salty and strong. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring it.

“Don't have an omega or kids.” Patting his shoulder through the layers of blanket, Jack winked at him. “Gotta take care of someone.”

Brock narrowed his eyes at him. Jack had gotten like this the time Brock took that arrow through his shoulder, fussed over him as he fought off the infection, brought him food and drink and helped change the bandages. Jack had been far _worse_ , actually, but it hadn't rankled half so bad. Probably because anyone, even an alpha, could get an injury. But, as much as Jack didn't know that's what was going on, only omegas could go into heat.

A bit of wine didn't sound bad, though, so Brock pulled out the stopper and poured a bit into the cup. He glanced at Jack. “Didn't bring a cup for yourself?”

“Nah, I can drink from this one.” Jack picked a cup up off the floor next to his bunk and brought it over. “Since I never get sick anyway.”

“It's also wine,” Brock pointed out as he took a sip. “It...um, cleans stuff.” It could be used to prevent infection, anyway. They'd soaked his bandages in it when he'd had that arrow wound.

“Right.” Grinning, Jack pulled another stool over and sat on it, pouring himself some wine.

When Brock was done his wine—he'd only taken about a finger's width in the bottom of the cup—and halfway through the broth, he checked the tea. Of course it was impossible to see what colour the tea was in the blackness of the iron kettle, but it smelled quite strong, so he poured a bit into his cup. And it looked purple, but that was because of the wine residue. Swirling the cup around, he drank it, then poured a bit more. Good. It was blue. He poured until the cup was full.

“That tea smells a bit astringent, hey?” Jack asked, nodding towards it.

Brock shrugged. “I guess.” He sniffed at the tea again. It smelled as though someone had distilled a meadow from high in the mountains near a glacier—sort of a perpetual early springtime. Not exactly something Brock would describe as 'astringent'. Maybe it smelled different to alphas. Some things did.

“Well, I hope it helps.” Pushing back his stool from the table, Jack stood up. As he passed Brock on his way to his bunk, he patted him on the shoulder. “Strikeforce needs its leader.”

Brock grunted. “It has you.” Jack was both capable and experienced.

Jack grinned at him over his shoulder. “But I need you.”

As Brock finished the rest of his tea—and the rest of the broth Jack had brought him—he tried to convince his stupid, overly-excitable, pre-heat omega heart that it had no reason at _all_ to go all fluttery.

o0o

Brock was wrenched from sleep the following morning by a large, cool hand on his brow.

“Sorry,” Jack was saying, holding up his hands. “Didn't mean to startle you.” And...gods, Jack smelled _good_. Even though he didn't actually smell any different than he usually did. At least not that Brock could decipher. Jack had always had a pleasant sort of alpha musk, warm and inoffensive—Brock couldn't have shared quarters with him these past years without noticing Jack's smell. But Brock was just noticing it more. A lot more. But regardless of how good he smelled, he was kind of an idiot: just blithely touching someone he knew to be 'probably contagious'. But most alphas were kind of idiots. (For all that they supposedly made the best leaders.) “I was going to ask if you were feeling up for the mission,” Jack said, letting his hands fall back to his sides, “but I'm going to assume the answer is no.”

“Yeah, um,” Brock tried to push himself up to sit against the wall. He rubbed a hand through his messy hair. “I think I actually feel worse this morning.” He really did. A lot worse.

Jack nodded, picking up the tureen and the cup he'd used himself for wine and setting them outside the door for the pages to collect. “One of those things that has to get worse before it gets better, hey?”

Brock let out a long breath, laughing weakly. “Yeah.” He should probably have another cup of the blue nettle tea, drink everything that was left in the kettle so he could make some blackmarrow. And then make more blue nettle. Maybe he should have grabbed a second kettle from the kitchens, but it was probably a little late for that.

But then Jack said, “I wanted blackmarrow this morning, but I didn't want to throw out your medicine tea in case it's still good to drink cold, so I had a page bring up a kettle. There's still about two thirds of it there.” He nodded to where a second kettle sat on the hearth, keeping warm.

Brock, struck with an irrational sudden urge to hug Jack and _cry_ , simply grunted. It's not like Jack really knew how important blackmarrow was to Brock. And it's not like he'd actually done anything all that thoughtful or that took much actual effort on his part; he'd just had a page bring up a kettle of blackmarrow tea. That he wanted. For himself. “What d'you alphas need blackmarrow for, anyway?” Brock grumbled. “Don't you have enough energy?” The really convenient thing about blackmarrow was that nearly everyone drank it. _And_ it was notably popular among beta males attempting to keep up with their alpha counterparts (who just went ahead and rudely drank it as well, largely defeating the purpose of betas drinking it).

Jack gave a slight shrug. “Big mission today. And besides, it tastes good. But speaking of the mission...” He grimaced. “I guess I've got to get going—can't slack when I'm the one in charge.” He winked at Brock, and Brock's heart did that stupid flutter thing again. Maybe it was a symptom Raina had forgot to mention. “But I've let the pages know you're sick,” Jack said, “so they'll be careful with the dishes and bedding and all—wouldn't want an outbreak among those kids; they keep everything running around here. Anyway, if you don't ring for one at least twice a day...” He nodded to the pull cord by the door. “...one will come knocking anyway. Figured in case you really couldn't get out of bed.” He flashed Brock a sort of mildly apologetic smile, shrugging his broad shoulders. “They'll bring you fresh water and more broth and anything else you ask for.”

“Thanks,” Brock said, pulling the blankets about his shoulders and feeling small in a way he hadn't felt since he was a child.

“There's also a chamber pot under your bunk,” Jack said, pointing. “In case you can't make it to the privy to throw up, or...whatever.”

If he was trying to make Brock feel small—and embarrassingly helpless—he was succeeding. “All right,” Brock grumbled. He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You think of everything, I guess.”

Jack shrugged. “Your healer girl isn't here, is she? And I'm not going to be either, so I thought it wise to plan ahead.”

“Yeah.” Brock's stomach twisted unpleasantly. “How many days was the mission estimate?”

“Five days,” Jack replied. “Depending on complications, weather, and unexpected terrain, possibly as long as a fortnight.” He narrowed his eyes, focused on Brock. “Don't die on me, agreed?”

“Agreed, and same to you,” Brock grumbled in reply. It was, technically, possible to die from a heat. Or, at least, to die _during_ a heat, though usually the actual cause was dehydration. But sometimes... Well, Raina hadn't even mentioned it as a possibility, so it probably wasn't a _real_ concern. More of a 'tales you tell to frighten' sort of thing. Raina had contacts in the university—Raina had _been_ to the university; she knew about these sorts of things. She'd told him to keep hydrated, so that's what he was going to do. Worrying about anything else would be a waste of energy.

Jack grinned. “Always do my best.” He sketched a jaunty salute then turned to go, and Brock's heart sped up like a spooked rabbit.

Brock managed, admirably, to keep himself from making any sounds of distress until after the thick wooden door had closed. Until Jack's muted footsteps had faded.

Brock was fine. He _was_. He needed to be alone for this to work. The very _last_ sort of person he needed around him was an alpha. Perhaps _especially_ one who knew him well. One who might discern subtle variations in his scent.

Once Brock got his breathing under control, he crawled out of his blankets and poured himself a cup of cold blue nettle tea. The stuff was far more bitter cold. But that was fine; he could handle bitter. He drank it all then washed the taste out of his mouth with a nice hot cup of blackmarrow.

After a trip to the privy and a stop at the washstand, he felt very nearly like himself. Almost as if, had he not known everything was about to get so much worse, he would have almost felt guilty for shirking the mission.

He called a page to ask for porridge with goat's milk and honey. Might as well eat while he could.

o0o

By the evening of the following day, he couldn't eat. Nausea from an insistent headache spiked at the mere thought of food. And his stomach kept cramping. When the page knocked on his door to bring fresh water and hot broth and ask if he needed anything else, Brock just said thank you, but no.

He drank all the water before going to bed and considered calling a page to bring more, but he still had at least one cup of prepared blue nettle tea and two of blackmarrow. He'd be fine. And another page would probably show up before we woke in the morning anyway.

There was even wine still in the decanter, since he hadn't really been drinking it. Maybe he should've. It might've helped with the headache, might've helped him sleep through the worst of it. Though he really wasn't at the worst of it yet, was he? By Raina's reckoning, he still had at least one more day before he should be in full heat—or was that just before an alpha would smell that he was in pre-heat? But wasn't even sweating that much yet.

He drained a cup of wine and fell into bed.

o0o

Brock wasn't sure what was happening, what day it was, or why he was locked up in his room. Pages kept bringing him water and broth, and he was thankful, but all he could manage was a few rough words asking them to leave it outside his door. He was contagious, after all. Sweat poured down his face, dripping off his eyebrows, sliding into his mouth, trailing over too-damp skin from his chin and down his neck. Sometimes the pages said they hoped he'd be well soon—calling in young voices through the door or leaving crooked words marked in charcoal on scraps of parchment tucked under the edge of the broth tureen. He hoped he'd be well soon too. He hadn't been this sick since he was a child. Or maybe ever.

He continued to drink his medicinal tea, mostly because he was thirsty and knew he had to drink it. But he couldn't remember how much he'd drank, because he couldn't remember what day it was or how long it had been since he'd drank anything at all. Was he supposed to drink it three times a day? He might have been drinking twice that. Or far less.

Every time he looked at the window he was surprised to see either sun or stars, because it never seemed to fit, always seemed wrong. How could it be night? Still. Already.

Sitting on a bunk with a blanket in his hands, crying, he didn't know why. His tears fell onto the dark fabric, making darker dots. He pushed his face into the blanket, the rough material scratching at the puffy flesh around his eyes and the tender end of his nose. But, _oh_ , it smelled good. Spicy and warm and familiar and _right_. Even his headache, even the pain in his gut, lessened as he breathed in the smell that hid in the blanket's rough weave.

He curled up on his side, soothed somewhat by the cool, smooth material of a pillowcase against his cheek. He pulled the blanket near his face, both hands tangled in it. Like a frightened, lonely child seeking security. Its smell was the only thing that helped. More than broth, more than tea, more than water. The sent surrounded him, wrapping him in pleasant warmth and brushing against him like a soothing touch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Raina is from AoS.  
> 'Jack' is of course Jack Rollins from Brock's STRIKE team in TWS (not Jack Murdock or Jack Thompson...or Jack Taggart or Justin Hammer's butler or whoever).  
> 'King Alexander' is Alexander Pierce, also from TWS.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that from this point on the story employs frequent use of the word 'cunt'. In the context of this fic, it simply means 'vulva/vagina' and is not meant (by me or the characters) in an insulting or derogatory manner.

Brock awoke with a grumpy sort of start. His head was pounding and his stomach clenching cruelly. But what had woken him was Jack, standing over him. Looking down at him with an expression of perplexed concern. “Why are you in my bunk?”

Oh. Brock blinked, looking around the room. His vision was blurred, but that was his bunk over _there_. Why _was_ he in Jack's bunk? “Sorry?” he tried, pushing himself up to sit and then grabbing at his loudly protesting head with both hands. He let out a little whimper, in part because of the pain, but also because Jack, just returned from wherever he'd gone and still unwashed, smelled _amazing_. But he was supposed to be answering Jack's question... “Sick.” Oh, that didn't explain _anything_ about why the hell he was in Jack's bunk, did it? And Jack already _knew_ he was sick.

Jack's hand found Brock's forehead, and Brock gasped, eyes going wide. “Got quite the fever,” Jack commented. He pulled his hand back, and Brock nearly fell off the bed trying to chase it. “Hey, easy there.” Jack caught him by the shoulders, steadying him.

Brock looked up at him, eyes wide and bleary. “Sorry,” he said again.

“Here, lean back,” Jack told him, pushing gently until Brock's back collided with the stone wall behind the bunk—maybe he didn't mind Brock being in his bed so much after all. “I'll get you some water.” His hands left Brock's shoulders. As Brock watched Jack moving away, he made a helpless, unhappy sound. But then Jack was back, pressing a cup of cool water to his lips and curling one hand around the back of his head to steady him, and all Brock could do was groan and swallow as the water washed welcome and wondrous down his throat. Jack sighed, setting the empty cup aside. “Should I call a healer?”

Brock shook his head quickly, emphatically. It was very important that no healer see him. No healer but Raina, but he couldn't exactly call her. “I'll be—” He blinked. Jack was brushing Brock's sweat-damp hair off his forehead with gentle fingers. Jack was tall and strong and smelled _so_ good. And his fingers trailed blessed relief as they moved across Brock's skin. Brock blinked again, mumbling, “She didn't have any flamefoil.”

Jack frowned slightly, tilting his head. “What's—? Is that the herb that you're supposed to take? To treat whatever you have?” Brock nodded even though flamefoil was meant to prevent what he had, not treat it. His eyelids felt heavy, and Jack's scent and touch were so soothing, so comforting. Brock's head lolled, muscles becoming water. Jack hummed thoughtfully. He began to pull away, saying, “Maybe the court physician will have some.”

“No!” Brock grabbed Jack's wrist in a tight grip, eyes wide. “Can't—can't—” He shook his head. It was vital that the court physician not see him like this. Even if Zola truly _was_ a beta and not an omega pretending to be one, he'd likely recognize the signs of heat and draw the accurate conclusion. (Especially if Jack mentioned flamefoil—why the hell had Brock said that out loud?)

Jack sat down on the edge of the bunk, a fond yet slightly exasperated expression on his face. “You don't want the court physician?”

Brock pressed his lips together, tasting salt: sweat. And possibly tears. He smoothed his fingers in apology over where he'd gripped Jack's arm too tightly. (He'd left bruises on Jack before, of course, but only in the training yard. Jack always smiled like it was _cute_ when he had bruises Brock had given him, seemed so proud that his little beta friend was so strong. But Brock had got enough bruises of his own to know they _hurt_.) Brock's lower lip trembled. “Please.”

Jack sighed. “I don't want you _dying_ , all right?” He shoved one large hand back through his glossy black hair. “I don't know what's wrong. If you're this sick, it's gotta be serious.”

Brock let his head fall back to rest against the wall, turning it slightly from side to side. “It's not.” It felt so much better now with Jack there—Jack's smell, Jack's touch. Even Brock's stomach was cramping less. But in the absence—or at least, lessening—of pain, other parts of his body were suddenly vying for his attention. He shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't very well shove a hand down his trousers to seek that particular sort of relief with Jack right there.

“Like hell it's not serious.” Chuckling ruefully, Jack shook his head. “You're sweating about a gallon every minute.” He touched Brock's heated cheek, and his expression grew serious. “I think...” He shook his head again, expression grim. “Brock, if you die because I didn't get a healer...” He heaved a sigh, expression unhappy. “You're not an _alpha_ , Brock; I know you're strong, know you're tough, but sometimes you just have to admit that your biology puts you at a slight disadvantage.”

Brock suddenly jolted, terrified. He was producing slick. He'd been wet for a wile, body reading itself for the alpha's knot it refused to believe wouldn't come, but this... He was in very real danger of soaking through his trousers. He'd already sweat all over Jack's bedding, but this was different. This was so much worse.

As Brock stumbled, feet caught in the twisted blankets as he tried to climb off the bed, Jack caught him again. “Hey, easy.” Jack was standing now, holding Brock up. “Do you need...?” He probably thought Brock was about to vomit, or worse, but Brock just needed...Jack. With a pathetic whimper, Brock leaned into Jack's solid, wonderfully musky form, twisting his fingers in the material of his tunic. “Hey, all right.” Jack patted Brock's back as Brock trembled like a tattered curtain in a storm. “What do you need?” Jack asked. “What can I do?”

Brock let out a sob, pressing his face—his sweaty, tear and probably snot streaked face—into Jack's neck. “Please. Please, please. _Please_ , Jack.” A surge of rebel slick soaked into his smallclothes and he bit his lip. His cunt was _throbbing_.

“Please _what_?” Jack asked, mildly exasperated, his hands still strong and sure as the held Brock against him. “I'd do pretty much anything you asked, but you gotta _ask_.”

Oh. Right. Brock pulled back to stare into Jack's face. Jack _didn't know_. Brock had been hiding. Lying. Gods, his head hurt. He winced, fingers tightening in Jack's shirt. How the hell was Brock supposed to know what to do? He bit his lip—hard. He'd never... He didn't know— He let out a shuddering breath. Jack, apparently, still couldn't smell the heat on him; that blue nettle stuff worked pretty damn well, considering he had to be in full heat now. But what _could_ Brock do? If he just told Jack, would Jack keep his secret, help him hide from everyone else? Brock _wanted_ to trust Jack; they'd had each other's backs in battle and out, bled for each other and even nearly died for each other. Several times. But Jack had been doing all that with and for the person he _thought_ Brock was: beta Brock, not omega Brock. It would change things. It had to. The only question was to what extent things would change. But if Brock leaked much more slick, Jack was going to figure it out regardless of what Brock did or didn't tell him. Brock shook his head, dropping his gaze. “I don't know.”

“Why don't you have a seat,” Jack suggested, steering Brock to the stool nearest the fire, “and have some more of your tea?” Easing Brock down onto the stool, he let go of him to check the kettles, and Brock whimpered. “Right, this one's blackmarrow, so this one's the medicinal one.” He glanced up, meeting Brock's eyes. “Does it need to be warm?”

Despite the heat from the few coals left in the fire—when _had_ he last thought to put wood on it?—Brock had his arms wrapped around his chest, shivering. He shook his head. “I can drink it cold.”

“All right,” Jack said, pouring the cold tea into a cup, “but you look as though you could use something warm right now.”

Brock shook his head, and his hand trembled he picked up the cup of tea. “Too hot.”

“I know,” Jack said, placing the back of his hand on Brock's forehead again. “I noticed.”

Brock leaned into the touch before he could stop himself. But why _should_ he stop himself? Jack's touch felt _good_. It was one of the few things that actually did. One of the few things that brought any sort of relief. The rush of slick into his already sodden smallclothes just felt gross. To hot, to wet, too...just too _much_. Did the Mother hate omegas so much that she cursed them thus? Unable to enjoy coupling the way a beta or an alpha would? Gave them headaches and cramps and fevers and too damn much slick from their painful little cunts? Was that—was that the true reason for an alpha's knot? To keep the geysers of slick from washing out all their seed? Jack was looking down at Brock, eyes narrowed with concern, and if Brock didn't get into his own bunk and hide under the bedding soon, Jack was going to see the slick soaking through his trousers and think he'd wet his pants. That might actually be more embarrassing than the truth. Jack would laugh, probably help him to the privy, bring him water and a towel and clean trousers, make some comment about weak betas and how this sort of thing never happened to alphas... Brock took another swallow of cold, bitter tea and rubbed at his forehead with a trembling hand.

“Brock...” Jack put his hand on Brock's shoulder, drawing Brock's eyes up to his face. “You're sick as hell, and I don't think this tea's enough. You said yourself you couldn't get the herb you need. I'm gonna get the healer.”

He'd only just started to pull his hand away when Brock blurted out, “I'm an omega.” Maybe he just didn't want Jack to stop touching him. Damn every single thing about being in heat. “I'm—I'm an omega, and I'm in heat.” He dropped his gaze to his cup, swirling the blue liquid around. “You—you were gonna find out any minute anyway; slick's soaking through my clothes. And I—” He took a deep, shaky breath, gaze still focused on his tea even as Jack's welcoming scent begged for his full attention. “I really need you _not_ to get the healer, if...if you could do that for me.”

Jack crouched down, putting one of his wonderfully strong hands on Brock's knee. It was warm through the fabric of Jack's trousers, welcome despite Brock's own overly heated skin. “You're an omega.” Brock glanced at his face for a moment then glanced away, nodding shakily. Jack didn't look angry. Didn't look particularly amused either—shouldn't it be _funny_ that his roommate had a soft little cunt that was currently gushing enough slick to soak his trousers? He looked more shocked than anything, completely off-balance. “And you've hidden it all these years.” Brock nodded again. “You don't _smell_ like an omega,” Jack insisted. “Much less one who's in heat.”

Swallowing the last of the tea, Brock set the cup on the table to press the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Blackmarrow. It—it hides the omega scent.” He nodded to the empty cup. “And that one hides the heat scent.”

Jack swore softly, sounding equal parts annoyed, impressed, and _pleased_. “You tricky bastards—no wonder most healers are omegas.” He grinned, broad and bright. “And no doubt a good half the beta ones are really omegas in disguise.” That was likely, actually. He squeezed Brock's knee once, and Brock's cunt happily let out another gush of slick. Jack's eyes flicked to Brock's crotch. “Oh,” he said softly. “I can smell it.” His eyes flicked back to Brock's face. “This close and this much and now that I know to _expect_ it.”

A wash of not quite uncomfortable shyness surged through Brock and he nearly asked if Jack _liked_ the smell. Which was stupid, of course, because all alphas liked the smell of slick. They could hardly help it any more than babes could help liking the taste of their dam's milk. “You won't tell— _please_ don't tell anyone,” Brock babbled. His arms lay, one on the table and the other across his thigh, and he had no energy to lift either, no energy to move anything save his mouth as it continued to pour desperate words. “I'll lose my damned job. I'll lose _everything_.” Some alpha would claim him and he'd never make a decision larger than which colour nappy to wrap his babe's bottom for the rest of his days. He'd be bred and bred and bred until he was worn and tired and dried up. He hadn't been smart or studious—or patient or gentle—enough to go to the university like Raina. (And Raina was still young; perhaps she still entertained suitors. Brock, at his age, would not have that luxury; he'd take what he could get and be _grateful_.) He drew a shaky breath as tears burned his eyes. “ _Please_ , Jack.”

“Of course I won't tell anyone,” Jack said, squeezing Brock's knee again and tilting upwards to kiss his forehead once. “I'll help you, Brock. I'll do whatever I can.” Brock started sobbing, hot tears streaming from his eyes, and Jack gathered him close, soothing. “I'll take care of you. It'll be all right.”

“You really—you really won't tell?” Brock asked wetly into the shoulder of Jack's tunic.

Jack chuckled, stroking his wondrous fingers through Brock's sweaty curls. “If you weren't all heat-addled and omega emotional, I'd take offence to that question.” He tightened his grip on Brock, adding solemnly, “You have my word, Brock; I will _never_ betray your trust.”

Brock bit his lip in an effort to stem his tears and only succeeded in drawing blood. “I'm sorry.” He gasped, hands clutching like claws at Jack's muscled back. “You shouldn't—shouldn't have to.”

“'Shouldn't have' to help my friend,” Jack said with an air of incredulity. He pulled back to look into Brock's face. “'Shouldn't have' to have your back just like you've always had mine.” He shook his head, patting Brock on the cheek. “You omegas really do say foolish things sometimes.”

Brock tried to be angry. But he only managed to bite his lip again, tasting copper. Dropping his gaze, he whispered, “Sorry.”

“It is _forgotten_ ,” Jack declared, hauling Brock to his feet. “Now, you look like you'd be more comfortable if you got cleaned up a bit—you've sweat all over your clothes.” His eyes flicked to one side. “And my bedding, but perhaps yours fared a bit better.” Jack led Brock, unresisting, to Brock's own bunk and lowered him down to sit on it. He paused, frowning. “I'll get some towels.” Brock sat obediently, managing not to cry out as Jack stepped away. Returning after what felt like far too long but was probably only a moment or two, Jack made Brock stand once more so he could spread some towels atop the sheet. “Be easier than replacing the whole mattress,” he said. Brock made an unhappy face. What if it wasn't enough? But Jack shrugged. “We can take that one apart and burn it if need be—as everyone knows, you are sick, after all. Anyway, how about you strip out of those damp clothes and we'll clean the worst of that sweat off you?” He'd brought the basin from the washstand and was wetting a towel in it.

Brock obediently pulled off his tunic then paused with his fingers on the laces of his breeches. He'd never let _anyone_ see him naked, not since he was out of diapers. But this was Jack, and his life was in Jack's hands anyway. Jack's hands seemed a decent place to be, all things considered. He unlaced the trousers, standing on wobbly legs to slide them and his smallclothes off as one. The air prickled his skin, raising gooseflesh. He had to sit back down on the edge of the bunk before his legs failed him, but he was naked now, revealed and vulnerable before Jack.

“Good,” Jack murmured, and Brock's eyes fell closed. Brock had never properly learned to read an alpha's scent, as betas weren't meant to (and generally _couldn't_ ), but Jack smelled—something like pleased or proud or protective. Maybe all three. He brought the wet towel up to Brock's face, starting around his eyes, then moving to his forehead, cheeks, chin, and neck. The towel, though colder than the air, was relief rather than discomfort. Maybe it was Jack—Jack taking care of him; Jack touching him; Jack murmuring soothing things like 'good' and 'I've got you' and 'just like that'.

As Jack moved down Brock's chest, he paused to re-wet the towel, and the shock against Brock's skin made him gasp.

“All right?” Jack asked, concerned eyes flicking to Brock's face.

“Yeah,” Brock managed. “Feels—feels good.”

Nodding, Jack went back to his task. “Just let me know if—if it's too cold. Or anything like that.”

Brock hummed in reply, bracing his knuckles against the bunk on either side of him to keep from wavering too much. To keep from falling over while Jack needed him upright.

Jack cleaned down each arm, cleaned each hand in turn, even cleaned between Brock's fingers. Cleaned his back, cleaned his belly, swiped the towel over each hip. He re-wet the towel then moved to Brock's thighs, avoiding the inner side and cleaning the backs of Brock's knees and down his calves to his ankles. Pausing, he looked up at Brock. “Can you stand for a bit?”

“Think so,” Brock said, pushing himself to his feet once again, wobbly as a newborn foal.

“All right,” Jack said, dipping the towel in the water. “Good. Now, tell me if you need me to stop.” He slid the towel over the inside of Brock's thighs, folded a bit of the towel over and reached around to clean the cheeks of Brock's arse. Folding the towel again, he used a clean section to wipe over Brock's cock, even pulling the foreskin back as Brock gasped, grabbing his shoulders to keep from falling. And...he was hard now. Fuck. His cunt throbbed, too wet and too hot. “Still all right?” Jack checked.

Brock bit his lip. What could he say? It certainly didn't feel _bad_. He nodded shakily. “Fine.”

“All right.” Jack rubbed the towel through the hair at the base of Brock's cock, making him whine and clench his fingers on Jack's shoulders. He tapped the inside of Brock's thigh with two fingers. “Spread out a bit?” Brock's legs shook, nearly spasming, as he complied. Jack carefully cleaned around the outside of Brock's cunt, wiping sweat and slick from the creases where his thighs joined his body. He didn't attempt to clean between the lips—a rough towel in there would have hurt on even a day when Brock wasn't in heat. Jack just moved farther back, cleaning between the cheeks of Brock's arse then folding that part of the towel over as well. “Sit down.”

Brock sat. The air was cool as it brushed his damp skin. “Feel so much better,” he slurred. His tongue was too large for his mouth, slow.

“Thought you might.” Jack smiled at him, and it was the best thing ever. “Just your feet now—been walking around in here barefoot since I left?”

Brock shrugged one shoulder. “Sick. Stayed inside.” His brow furrowed. “Abed, mostly.”

Jack chuckled. “Yes, _my_ bed.” He lifted one of Brock's feet and cleaned the top and then the bottom, moving a pinched bit of damp, cool towel between each toe. “Keep that one on the bunk?”

“Right.” Brock pulled it up to rest on the edge of the bunk, arm hugged around his drawn-up knee as Jack cleaned his other foot. His cunt was oozing more slick, dampening the towel under his arse.

Jack paused, hands still on Brock's foot—its heel resting against his thigh—and whispered, “Beautiful.”

“Wha—?” Brock looked at Jack's face, trying to determine where _he_ was looking. And, oh. Well, that was to be expected, wasn't it? Brock flushed. Would it be the smell, mostly, or the sight? He couldn't see his own cunt that well, never really had. But the little he could see seemed brighter, pinker, than usual. Even the curling hair glistened in the light like a fancy omega's ringlets, oiled and brushed, pinned and pulled to suit an alpha's gaze. It was just slick, though. (Maybe that's what oil in an omega's hair was supposed to imply.)

Jack shook his head, dropping his gaze to Brock's foot once more. “Sorry.” He tapped the foot with two fingers. “That one up on the bed now too—try to keep them clean.”

Brock obediently pulled his other knee up, even though it meant Jack was no longer touching him for the moment. Brock rested his cheek against his drawn-up knee, watching Jack as he cleared away the basin and soiled towel. Jack spent a few moments at the washstand then turned and walked back to where he'd left Brock. Brock tried to smile, but it came out sad.

“Hey.” Jack ruffled Brock's curls and Brock leaned into the touch, smiling for real. “Should have told you to lay down,” Jack said. “You look tired.”

“Am,” Brock admitted.

“Here you go, then.” Jack guided Brock down onto the pillow, pulling the sheet and blankets over him.

Brock sighed, shifting slightly. His headache was nearly gone and his stomach hadn't been cramping much the whole time Jack was touching him, but his cock was still insistently hard. His cunt, of course, was valiantly producing even more slick. And tingling—obnoxiously calling attention to itself. He blinked up at Jack. “What now?”

Jack looked down at him, expression soft. “Think you can sleep for a bit?”

Brock bit his lip. He was tired, sleepy even. But he couldn't sleep. Not with all the insistant demands for attention his genitals were making. Finally he sighed and admitted, “No.” He shifted slightly, wincing.

Sitting down on the edge of the bunk, Jack ran his fingers through Brock's hair. Brock's eyes closed, and he hummed in appreciation. “Yeah, you like that,” Jack murmured.

Brock grinned, because he did. “Like you... You touching me...your smell.” He shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position, and slurred, “Helps.”

Jack's fingers stilled then curled, tugging a bit at Brock's hair. “Hear we alphas are good at that.” Brock hummed in agreement, shifting closer to Jack. _Jack_ was good at what he was doing, anyway. Jack tugged a bit harder on Brock's hair, sending pleasant red sparks rushing through his body just under his skin. “What do you want me to do?” Jack asked.

Blinking his eyes open, Brock studied Jack's face for a moment. Finally he said, stupidly, “What do _you_ want to do?”

One side of Jack's lips tilted up. “I want to do whatever it takes for you to get through this with the least possible suffering.”

“Oh,” Brock said softly. “Um.” He rolled onto his side, facing Jack. “I don't really... I've never...” He bit his lip. It hurt. (He really needed to stop doing that, give it time to heal.)

Jack narrowed his eyes slightly, fingers resuming their stroking through Brock's hair. “Is this your first heat— _ever_?”

Brock nodded, a tiny, jerky movement. His cock throbbed. His cunt let out another pulse of slick. It pooled, warm and wet, on the inside of his thigh.

Jack sighed, expression resigned. “I don't suppose your healer friend told you...”

“Told me to drink the tea,” Brock said. “And lots of water. And...” His eyes skated away, and he bit the inside of his lip (avoiding the injured spot this time). “Avoid alphas.”

“So you're just supposed to suffer alone?” Jack tugged sharply at Brock's hair, and Brock's eyes and mouth both fell open and his head tilted back as more slick gushed onto his thigh to join what was already pooling there. His cock throbbed, and he whimpered. Jack's eyes narrowed, looking concerned. “What—?” He sighed. “What do you need? What can I do?”

Brock rolled onto his back, keeping one knee up to stop the bedding from brushing against his cock. “Please—please—” He closed his eyes, hands fisted at his sides. His voice was small and broken when he said, “Please, Jack. Please touch me.”

“Oh, sweet one,” Jack murmured, eyes darkening as he trailed one hand down from Brock's collarbone, under the blankets to his hip, giving it a squeeze. “Here?” Brock's hips bucked off the bed, and Jack chuckled. Leaning in, he nuzzled at Brock's temple, brushing a kiss against his cheekbone. “I think maybe I was close.”

Brock's stomach chose that moment to clench sharply, and he made a pained noise, curling in a bit as though he'd been punched. Or maybe stabbed. “Hurts,” he gasped, one hand finding Jack's wrist and guiding his hand to the middle of his belly. “Here.”

Jack ran his hand over the soft skin there, humming. Waves of shocking relief followed in the wake of his touch. “Wanna make it better,” he said, voice low. His fingers curled gently in the hair just above Brock's aching cock. “Wanna make you feel _good_.”

Brock let out a sob, because, yes: Jack had promised to take care of him, to make it all right. Brock swallowed. “Please. Please, Jack.”

Jack's fingers closed around Brock's cock, and Brock cried out, back arching, head thrown back against the pillow. “So beautiful like this,” Jack murmured.

Brock smiled at him, helpless and a little wild. One hand snaked out and captured Jack's bicep, muscles warm and solid beneath the fabric of his tunic. Brock's fingers clenched, shaky and desperate as Jack's hand—strong, warm, skin little rough—worked his cock under the blankets. Jack's scent filled the air, but Brock still begged, “Need to smell you,” tugging at Jack's arm in an attempt to pull him closer. “Need more, please. You—do you know how _good_ you smell?”

“Guess I probably smell better right now than I usually would,” Jack mused, grip tightening on Brock's cock as he shifted, leaning closer, letting Brock bury his face in Jack's muscled bicep. “Or at least _more_. Which is probably the same thing when you're in heat.”

Brock hummed eager agreements, nuzzling at the material—soft from much wear and many washings. “Smell brave,” he mumbled, lips catching on the fabric.

“'Brave'?” Jack repeated, chuckling.

Brock frowned, worrying the inside of one cheek with his teeth. “You went out,” he tried. “The mission. Came back. To me.” He looked up, seeking Jack's face. “Sweat, and a bit of blood—not yours.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “The mission went well,” he confirmed, hand continuing to move on Brock's cock. “No one was seriously hurt—no one of ours, anyway.” He paused, tugging suddenly at Brock's cock, and twisting. Making Brock gasp. “The blood you smell is from a mountain cat. Jumped on me from above—up on some rocks, like a small cliff.” His gaze softened as he looked down at Brock. He pumped his hand a few times, Brock's foreskin sliding wondrously over the head of his cock. “Am I distracting you?”

Brock shook his head. “I like—like to picture you. Fighting off the beast.” He grinned, baring his teeth.

Jack chuckled. “You like to picture me in danger?”

Brock made a negative sort of grunt, pressing a kiss to Jack's bicep through the tunic. Glancing up through his lashes he said, “You were never in any danger; it didn't—didn't even get a scratch on you.”

Jack grinned down at him, bright and broad. Pleased. “Nat said I nearly died, but you're probably right.”

Brock huffed. “Nat's probably mad it didn't attack her.”

Jack's grin turned contemplative. “No doubt. She'd have quite a story to bring back to her little omega—and the trophies too.” He moved his hand smoothly, almost meditatively on Brock's cock. “I got to keep the teeth and the pelt. The rest of the carcass was claimed by Consort Jasper's personal apothecary—the beast was a male omega in pre-heat, so supposedly consuming some of the organs will make the Consort extra fertile during his next heat. Personally, I very much hope it works; a pregnant omega could only improve the King's disposition.”

Brock hummed in agreement. A royal heir could only be good for the kingdom, good for them all.

“Is this—is this even helping?” Jack asked, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed in concern, voice edged in something that might have been exasperation. And worry.

Brock blinked up at him, his own brow furrowing. “Oh.” Jack's thumb worried the foreskin against the head of Brock's cock. Brock grinned, shifting languidly. Not minding the slick that oozed between his legs. “Yeah—feels good.”

“Right.” Jack smiled, a little tight but still encouraging. “I only meant—you're still— Nothing's changing.” He sighed, hanging his head for a moment. Glancing up to meet Brock's gaze, he offered him an apologetic smile. “I admit I've never been with a male omega in heat before. Or, any omega in heat, actually—I was with a female omega whore once who took a potion to simulate a heat.” He shook his head. “But I'm not sure how true to a real heat it would have been.” He smiled sardonically. “Likely not very.”

Brock grimaced. “Well, I don't—don't know what—short of your knot up my cunt—would make my body truly happy.” He frowned, brows twisting. “Isn't that supposed to end it?” He shifted his hips restlessly. “End the heat? Or does it just go on and on anyway, regardless?”

“I don't know,” Jack admitted, hand still moving over Brock's cock. “I think the knot is supposed to make a heat end sooner, be easier on the omega, all that. But...” He shrugged. “Like I said, you're the first in heat omega I've ever personally encountered.”

Brock's lips twisted unhappily, and he glanced down at where the blankets covered his lap. “It is still helping, what you're doing—you, touching me. Your scent too.” He smiled dopily, glancing at Jack's face. “Smells good. 'S calming.” He could actually speak coherently with Jack here and almost relax. But Jack's hand must've been getting tired, even sore from the repetitive motions.

Opening his hand, Jack pressed it against the underside of Brock's cock, pushing it up against Brock's belly. Brock choked a bit, and Jack grinned. “Still good?” Jack checked as he massaged the underside of Brock's cock.

“Yeah,” Brock managed, grinding up into that wondrous resistance.

“What would make you happy?” Jack asked quietly.

Biting his lip as his body shuddered and begged for _more_ , Brock shook his head. “Don't know.” He clenched his teeth. Maybe actually _being_ a beta. Not having to go through this awful heat at all.

Jack hummed thoughtfully. “Should I touch your cunt?”

Brock's cunt spasmed in its eagerness at that thought, releasing a gush of slick. “I—” He tensed, then let out a breath. “If you want.”

“Sweet one,” Jack murmured, leaning in so he could nuzzle at Brock's hairline. “Of course I want to.”

Brock laughed, nervous and relieved. “Could you—could you take off your tunic? I just—I want to see you, and—” He bit his lip. “Touch you—your skin.”

“Of course.” Pulling back so he could do as Brock asked, Jack tugged the tunic off over his head. It was a dusty blue. Brock caught hold of it with one hand. “You want that?” Jack asked. “I've been wearing it for three days straight.”

Brock wet his lips as his fingers curled possessively in the folds of fabric. “Good.”

Grinning, Jack relinquished the tunic, and Brock brought it up to his face, breathing deeply. Jack chuckled. “Have you always liked my scent?”

Brock made a bit of a face. “You always smell good. So yes. But not like this.” He shuddered as his cunt let out another wash of slick. “Gods.” He closed his eyes. “You—” He shook his head, biting the inside of his lip and shifting his hips restlessly. “You're not _touching_ me!” he whined.

Jack brushed a kiss against Brock's temple then shifted farther towards the foot of the bunk, folding back the blankets so the cool air washed against Brock's heated skin, raising a thousand pinpricks of gooseflesh. Brock whined, aroused and distressed, but Jack's hands moved against his thighs and over his hips, soothing. Jack pressed a kiss to the inside of one of Brock's knees, and Brock's toes curled. Jack's warm, bold fingers trailed up the inside of Brock's thigh. “You kept this hidden from me for so long,” he murmured. “Such a clever omega. And so strong.” His fingers found the slick, slipping through it easily, the sensation of his touch amplified. Brock was a shuddering mess, and Jack hadn't even reached his cunt yet. “Not only did you pass as a beta, but you kept up with the alphas,” Jack continued. “So very strong.” He pressed another kiss to the inside of Brock's knee. “So very clever. You outsmarted us all, made us follow you, obey you.” His finger slid between the lips, and Brock cried out as the largest, hottest gush of slick so far surged from his body.

“Please, Jack, _please_.” Brock's hands clenched and unclenched, twisting in the bedding, in Jack's discarded tunic. “I can be good for you,” he babbled. “Whatever you want. I need you. Need it.”

“I've got you,” Jack assured him. “I'll take care of you.” He slid his finger carefully, gently into the opening as each surge of slick almost seemed determined to push it back out again. Jack pressed the rough stubble of his cheek into Brock's knee. “So beautiful. So beautiful like this.”

Brock writhed and panted, bucking his hips against Jack's touch to urge him inward. “Jack! Yes, _please_ , Jack.” Nothing in his life had ever felt as good as Jack's finger inside him, but it was still not nearly enough. He sobbed, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. He needed something bigger. He was so empty. “More, more, I need—” Jack's finger withdrew, stroking with its fellows against Brock's cunt only to plunge in again—two fingers this time. Brock let out a breath, relaxing against the mattress in bliss. This was better. Jack's fingers were pressing against something swollen and throbbing inside the entrance of Brock's cunt, like a sore muscle needing a massage. He rocked his hips, instinctively seeking that delicious pressure, seeking relief.

“You like that, don't you?” Jack murmured, warm breath ghosting over the skin of Brock's thigh.

Brock bit his lip and whimpered, rocking his hips with greater force. Jack's fingers in him hurt and felt good in equal measure. It was too much and not enough. Did he like it? Maybe, sure, yeah. But he _needed_ it. Needed that pressure, needed... Something else, actually. But this was the closest he'd gotten. He bucked his hips sharply, heedless of the squelching sound as his slick gushed out over Jack's hand. There was so much now; his arse lay in a slimy puddle. Jack's fingers were not nearly big enough, the wrong shape, and too rough. Even with so much slick, the skin felt all wrong. Like tree bark. Tree bark soaked and coated and dripping with thick oil, but still too damned _rough_. “ _Please_ , Jack,” he begged, throwing his head back against the pillow in frustration.

“What do you need?” Jack asked, fingers still working—still so good yet not enough.

Brock growled in frustration. Jack was an _alpha_. Brock shouldn't've have to explain it in detail. Brock should've had to fight him off, not _ask_ for what he needed. Brock glared at him. “Your _knot_.”

Jack's expression morphed into a pained grimace, and his fingers stilled inside Brock. There was an edge of warning in his voice when he said, “Brock...”

Brock stared at him, his chest constricting. It hurt. Could it be Jack didn't want him? Didn't want to knot him? Brock neither looked nor smelled like an omega. And Jack might only like female...anythings. Was everything he had done so far only out of consideration for Brock? Did he only call him beautiful because he knew that's what Brock, a vulnerable omega in heat, would want to hear? Brock turned his face away, staring with unfocused eyes at the grey stone wall. “I'm sorry,” he croaked. “You don't have to. I know I'm not a—a _good_ omega.” Not soft, not delicate. Neither quiet nor obedient. He pressed a hand to his face, trying to hide the tears that refused to stop flowing. Gods, he really _was_ a vulnerable, desperate, weak omega. And he _hated_ being in heat.

“Hey, hey,” Jack said, one hand stroking soothingly along the inside of Brock's thigh. “That's not— Do you really think I wouldn't want to? _Brock_.” He gripped Brock's thigh, giving it a little shake. “You could _conceive_ —now, in heat. Like this.”

“Oh.” Turning back to look at Jack's concerned face, Brock furrowed his brow. He'd honestly forgotten all about that. But Jack was right: that was a very real danger. Brock worried his lip. Jack was trying to protect him, to protect his secret, to protect his position as a respected officer in the King's service. Shoving himself up so he was sitting, Brock threw his arms around Jack, pressing his face into Jack's neck and whispering, “Thank you.”

Jack chuckled, stroking one hand up and down Brock's back as the other threaded into his hair. He must've wiped his hand off on the towel, because it wasn't dripping slick everywhere. He pressed a kiss to Brock's temple. “You'd hate me forever if I put a child in you.”

“I don't think I would,” Brock admitted. “Hate you, I mean. But—” He'd be terrified. He'd have no idea what do do. His life would be, essentially, over. Maybe Jack—Jack, his friend, who cared about him and wanted to take care of him—would bond him, keep him in a nice little house with a vegetable patch, a few chickens, and a goat. Maybe Brock could learn to sew nappies and aprons with his too-large fingers. Brock hickupped, pressing his face further into Jack's neck. “Really don't want a child,” he grumbled.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, and his fingers felt _so good_ in Brock's hair.

Brock whined a bit, pressing closer, crawling halfway into Jack's lap and getting slick all over Jack's trousers. Stupid alpha was still wearing trousers—his bare thigh would feel so much better. Brock huffed against his neck. But... Brock blinked slowly, pulling back. “Wait... I have—”

He fumbled for his belt-pouch where it hung on a peg above his bunk, but Jack took it away from him. “Let me; I don't think you can do much of anything right now.” Brock glared, sullen, but...Jack was _right_. Being in heat was the worst. “What do you need?” Jack asked as he loosened the drawstring. But the pouch only contained the one item. “This?” Jack asked, holding up the small vial, head tilted in question.

Brock nodded. “If I drink it, I can't get pregnant.” Jack's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. Brock ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, letting his other rest at Jack's waistband just above his hip. “I'm supposed to drink it when I'm in full heat—but before I couple with an alpha. And drink a full cup of water after it.”

Jack looked at the bright orangey-red liquid in the vial then looked at Brock. “Any side effects, risks—long term consequences?”

Brock shrugged. “Not that I know of. She said I'd need more—for next time.” He grimaced. Assuming there was a next time. He sincerely hoped there wouldn't be.

“You're in full heat now?” Jack checked, eyes slightly narrowed.

Brock grimaced again. “Think so.” Raina had said a lot about the symptoms, but being near Jack made most of them feel less severe. His head barely hurt at all, for example. But it had been awful before Jack got back. If 'full heat' was more than that, how could anyone _survive_ it? He shifted as his cunt burned unhappily. “Pretty sure.”

“I suppose this solves the problem, then,” Jack mused. He pressed the vial into Brock's hand. “If you want to do this, I'll get you some water.”

Brock nodded and Jack moved him, shifting him off of his lap onto the bunk. But before Jack could stand, Brock caught his arm. He couldn't quite meet Jack's eyes. “You—you want this?”

Jack laughed, quiet and fond and mildly exasperated. “You really can't read an alpha's scent, can you?”

Brock shook his head. Shrugged one shoulder. “Can usually pick up anger pretty well.”

“Even betas can do that.” Jack shook his head, taking Brock's hand and pressing it to the front of his trousers. Brock's eyes flicked up to Jack's face in shock. And wonder. Jack's cock was harder than Brock's had ever been in his life. It was also huge and—

Brock let out a whine, trembling all over. “Please, Jack.” His eyes widened, watery and helpless. “ _Please_.”

“ _I'll give it to you_ ,” Jack assured him firmly, lifting the hand from his crotch to press a kiss to the back of it. “I'll give you what you need. But I need to get you that water first.”

Brock nodded, but as Jack slid off the bunk to stand up—as Jack _stopped touching him_ and _moved away—_ Brock let out a sound of distress, not quite stopping himself from reaching out and grasping Jack's hand, holding on so tight his hand shook and his knuckles turned white. Looking down at their joined hands, Jack sighed. “I'm—sorry,” Brock said, finally forcing his rebel hand to let go of Jack, pulling it back as if burned.

“It's all right,” Jack said as he walked across the room—and he was _so far away now_. Brock whimpered, wrapping his arms around his torso and rocking back and forth a bit. “You're in heat,” Jack said. “You can't help it.”

Brock shivered, closing his eyes. He shouldn't have been crying over something so stupid, but he was so _alone_. Jack—Jack, who had been there, who had been making it better—must be angry. Something about Brock had displeased him. Brock wrapped his arms tighter about himself, struggling to gasp in air through his sobs.

“Hey,” Jack said, touching his arm, and Brock started so violently he dropped whatever he'd had in his hand. Tears dripped, warm and careless, off his chin. “Whoa, there,” Jack said, grabbing the small vial before it could slide off the bunk and onto the floor. “Guess maybe I shouldn't have had you hold onto that...” Crouching down, he set the cup of water on the floor. “How about you drink your medicine now, before anything awful happens to it?” Sitting on the edge of the bunk so his thigh was brushing against Brock's knee, he uncorked the vial and held it to Brock's lips. “Drink.” Brock drank obediently, gulping the viscous mixture—tangy and a bit oily, but not especially unpleasant. Bending down, Jack snagged the cup of water and held that to Brock's lips as well, repeating the command: “Drink.” Brock took a swallow. “All of it,” Jack prompted. It wasn't difficult to obey; the water washed pleasant and cool in his mouth and throat. After setting the empty cup on the floor, Jack let Brock lean against him for a while, let him hide his face in Jack's neck and breathe deeply. Jack hadn't been angry at all. He wasn't even angry now, even in the face of Brock's pointless, unfounded tears.

Sniffing and pulling back, Brock searched for something with which to dry his face. He found Jack's tunic next to the pillow, so he used that. He glanced up at Jack with eyes that were no doubt rimmed in red. Jack's hands, one on his hip and one on his knee, soothed him, helped him feel tethered. Less likely to drift away, to fly apart. Brock took a shuddering breath and let it out. “Sorry.”

“Like I said,” Jack murmured, hooking one hand around the back of Brock's head and leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “You can't help it.”

Brock nodded slowly, pressing his lips together in unhappy acceptance. He hadn't been this at a loss to control his own body since he was toddler hanging off his dam's skirts. “I'm scared,” he admitted in a small voice, unsure why he'd said it aloud.

“It's all right, sweet one,” Jack said, running soothing fingers through Brock's hair, over his shoulders, back, and arms. “It's going to be all right. You're going to be fine.” Brock whimpered, letting Jack pull him into the crook of his neck again. “I've got you,” Jack assured him, rocking him gently. “I'll take care of you. You're safe.”

A few more tears slipped from Brock's eyes, but maybe that was okay. He went easily as Jack guided him back down to lie on the bunk, head on the pillow. As Jack ran his hands reverently over the topography of Brock's chest and down across his equally muscled belly, Brock smiled tiredly. “You'll keep me safe,” he mumbled, shifting languidly under Jack's touch.

“I will,” Jack agreed, leaning in to press a kiss to Brock's belly, just above the cock that was, after all the upset, quickly taking an interest in Jack once again. Brock groaned, hips shifting restlessly. Sitting up and keeping one hand possessively on Brock's hip, thumb stroking the hollow next to his hipbone, Jack met his eyes. “You still want my knot?”

Brock nodded his head where it lay against the pillow. “Please,” he whispered as a fresh gush of slick surged from his cunt. He whined a bit as Jack quickly unlaced his breaches. Jack's smell had never been so strong—it was heady, wondrous. “Please,” Brock begged again as soon as he _saw_ the cock—at least twice the size of his own. He'd caught chance glimpses of it before, sharing a room and working so close as they did, but never even close to erect. Brock's mouth watered and fell open at the same time—he was all but drooling.

“Don't worry, don't worry,” Jack chided, smiling fondly and patting Brock's knee as he stripped the rest of the way off and dropped his clothing on the floor. “I won't make you wait.”

“Jack...” Brock whined, shifting, unable to find a comfortable position. His skin was aflame.

“I'm here, sweet one,” Jack assured him, positioning himself over Brock and leaning in close to smile at him. The head of his cock slid against Brock's cunt, easily finding the entrance. Curling one hand around the back of Jack's head and one leg around Jack's arse, Brock angled up for a kiss. Jack kissed him back hungrily as Brock rocked his hips experimentally, working Jack's cock into him—for all Brock's frankly excessive slick, the cock was still damned _huge_. Maybe it was unremarkable for an alpha; Brock hadn't had occasion to examine many cocks other than his own. It certainly felt remarkable as it slowly stretched him, filling him. And filling him. Until he was so full, he had to take a moment just to rest, to breathe. “All right?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Brock assured him, swallowing. “I just—”

“It's a lot?” Jack guessed. “A lot to get used to when you've never had anything in there before?”

“Nothing but your fingers,” Brock said, eyes closed as he carefully clenched and unclenched around Jack's massive bulk. Sweat had broken out, beaded up, on his skin again, and he was panting.

“Not even your own fingers?” Jack asked, voice slightly strained and body tense as he remained carefully still atop Brock.

“No,” Brock admitted. “Never. Just...when washing, between the lips. But never inside.” He clenched particularly hard and held before releasing, and Jack groaned.

“You're going to make me knot—just like this,” Jack warned him.

Opening his eyes to grin up at him, Brock asked in mock innocence, “Was there something else you wanted to do first?”

“Well,” Jack said, voice carefully conversational, “I thought we might try fucking for a bit...” He let out a huff, grinning. “But just for a bit—thought you might enjoy it.” His shoulders twitched. “If you're impatient, can't wait for the knot, that's fine too.”

Brock rocked his hips again experimentally. Jack was—somehow—all the way in, their bodies flush against one another. He hooked his other leg around the back of Jack's thigh, grinding his hips up into Jack. His cock, trapped as it was between their bodies, pulsed in eagerness. The stretch of his cunt was no longer painful, just really, really, really nice. And— _somehow_ —still not quite enough. But maybe enough for the moment. “Yeah,” he said, “fuck me for a bit.”

Pressing another kiss to Brock's mouth, Jack pulled out nearly all the way before sliding back in again. Brock grunted, and Jack asked, “All right?”

“Yeah,” Brock assured him. “'S good. Feels good.” Jack nodded, then thrust again, and Brock's legs and arms moved of their own accord to clutch and pull and encourage Jack closer, deeper. Jack's cock was massaging that sore, swollen spot inside Brock's cunt far better than his fingers had. One of Brock's hands found its way into Jack's hair, twisting and pulling—holding on. “Please,” he whispered, eyes closed, overwhelmed by the scent and touch and taste of Jack as he mouthed at a muscled shoulder, tasting the mingled salty tang of old and new sweat.

Brock let his head fall back against the pillow, and Jack captured his mouth, licking into it and nipping at his lower lip. Brock shuddered, staring up bleary-eyed at Jack as Jack rested his forehead against Brock's. “I'm going to knot you now,” Jack told him, thrusting into him with a particular force and stilling.

“Please,” Brock said again, locking his ankles behind Jack's back, pulling at Jack and pressing upward with his own body as if he could force him deeper. He looked into Jack's eyes and clenched his cunt—as hard and as long as he could. Which turned out not to be that long, because the knot was swelling at the base of Jack's cock, hot and insistent, and Brock's muscles became jelly in the hot sun. He stared up at Jack, eyes wide and mouth open. Wave after wave of sparkling relief spread from Jack's knot out through Brock's whole body, reaching the very tips of his toes and fingers, the very top of his head. “Oh.” He swallowed. “Oh, gods.”

Jack's eyelids fluttered and his voice rumbled, low, “Good?”

“ _So_ good,” Brock told him. His legs fell lax at either side as they refused to move other than to shudder weakly. Even his arms, even his hands refused to obey anything but the vaguest of commands, so he idly stroked the smooth skin over Jack's ribs.

Jack ducked his face into the crook of Brock's neck, panting, his breath warm and damp against Brock's skin. “All right.” He kissed Brock's neck. “I'm glad.”

“You're wonderful,” Brock told him dreamily. “Best feeling—best thing I've ever...”

Jack chuckled, nuzzling at Brock's cheek. “I'm honoured.”

Brock stroked his fingers through the hair where it curled cheekily at the back of Jack's neck. “Tired,” he murmured.

“I'll bet you are.” Jack laughed softly. “Here—let me get us—” He flipped them both over so Brock was on top. It was essentially an inverse of a move Jack would use when sparring—but of course then, Jack would be flipping them to get _himself_ on top. Brock blinked lazily down at him. Jack was so warm, so solid and _so warm_. If they could stay knotted together forever, that would be okay. Somehow hooking an edge of the sheet, Jack pulled it over both of them. “Sleep now?”

Brock hummed happily, laying his head down on Jack's familiar shoulder. “Good...good idea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A 'mountain cat' in this AU is essentially a sabre cat as seen in 'The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim'.
> 
> Notes on characters and canon:  
> 'Nat' is Natasha Romanoff. Her 'little omega' is Pepper Potts.  
> The court physician, 'Zola', is of course Arnim Zola from both Cap movies.  
> 'Consort Jasper' is Jasper Sitwell. (He's a minor character, but he's been in, like, half of the MCU at this point?)


	3. Chapter 3

When Brock awoke, he was still using Jack as both mattress and pillow. Solid and warm and not exactly uncomfortable. Possibly even more comfortable than his bunk usually was. As Brock blinked the sleep from his eyes, Jack pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Sleep well?”

Brock grunted an affirmative. When he shifted a little, Jack's softened cock slid out of him, followed by a gush of slick. “Ugh,” Brock groaned, pressing his forehead into Jack's collarbone.

“Sore?” Jack asked, a note of concern in his voice—probably in his scent too, but whatever.

“Not really,” Brock said, pushing himself up to sit straddling Jack's hips. More slick poured out of him to pool on Jack's belly. “Well, not _there_ , anyway.” 'There' felt as good as it ever had, probably better. Just too damn _slimy_. And sticky. And... Just generally gross in ways a good wash would probably fix easily enough. Offering Jack a bit of a smirk, he rolled his shoulders. “Headache's completely gone, though. And...I don't feel hot?” He touched his own cheeks with the backs of his fingers, brows furrowing.

Jack hummed thoughtfully, bringing the back of his own hand up first to Brock's cheeks and then his forehead. “Yeah, fever seems to be gone.”

Brock made a face at the pool of slick on Jack's belly. “We both really need to get cleaned up, though.”

Jack chuckled. “And clean up in general, too.” His face grew more serious. “But if you need anything else...”

Brock quirked an eyebrow at him. “If I need you to knot me again, I guess I'll let you know.” Jack actually flushed a bit, and Brock couldn't help grinning. “But I do think I'm all right now. Just...” He bit his lip, brow furrowing. “A bit light-headed?”

Jack grunted. “You're probably starving. When was the last time you ate anything besides broth?” Brock just stared at him guiltily, and Jack growled, low and rumbling. He didn't smell angry, not exactly. “That's understandable,” Jack said after a moment. “You were in heat.” His gaze hardened. “You need to eat now, though. Bread, cheese, meat—greens.”

“I had porridge!” Brock blurted suddenly, because he'd remembered. “With goat's milk and honey. The morning you left.”

Pushing himself up to lean against the wall at the head of the bunk, Jack nodded. His hands rested on Brock's hips, not quite holding him in place. “That was four days ago,” he said calmly.

Brock blinked at him. “Wasn't—? You said the mission should take five days.”

“ _You_ said it should take five days,” Jack corrected, tightening his grip momentarily on Brock's hips. “Be glad we completed it early, the state I found you in when I returned.” He shook his head. Then his frown morphed into a pleased grin. “And now look at you: well on your way to recovery, thanks to me.”

Brock narrowed his eyes. “Well on my way?” He snorted. “I'd call myself fully recovered once I get a meal and a bath.”

“Perhaps,” Jack conceded, “but you'll be in heat recovery for a day or two anyway. As your second in command, I'd advise against attempting to resume your duties before then.”

“Right.” Brock bit his lip, looking at where his hands rested on Jack's shoulders. “You'll still—still be all right...with...with...”

“With taking orders from an omega?” Jack guessed, and Brock nodded, somewhat ashamedly. Jack rolled his eyes. “You're still the same man now that you were before I knew; if you were a good leader then, you're a good leader now.”

It probably wasn't the smartest or even exactly an appropriate thing to do in response to Jack's declaration, but Brock leaned in and kissed him, hard and fierce, on the mouth.

o0o

“Eat,” Jack instructed, setting the tray in front of Brock. He'd had the pages knock and leave it outside the door, 'lest they risk the sickness'. Which of course meant he was worried some of the older alpha or omega ones might smell the slick. There was certainly enough in the room. He and Jack had only wiped the worst of it off themselves with towels; Jack insisted getting a proper meal into Brock was their first priority. Brock had a sheet wrapped about himself in lieu of clothing he'd only smear with leftover slick—the sheet from Jack's bunk, since the ones from Brock's own were rather too soaked in slick to be comfortable. A significant upside was that the sheet smelled like Jack, even if it did also smell rather strongly of Brock's own sweat. Jack tapped Brock on the side of the neck with two fingers, repeating, “Eat.”

Brock swatted Jack's hand away, but still turned his attention to the food before him. An entire loaf of fresh bread, torn open and spread liberally with bright yellow melting butter shared the tray with several wedges of cheese, an entire chicken, and a dark green pile of steamed lamb's quarters. A cup in one corner held goat's milk. It was a bit excessive, except maybe it really wasn't. When Brock looked up from his food, he'd already eaten two thirds of the bread, all the greens, all the cheese, and half the chicken. He frowned slightly at Jack who was crouched on the hearth stoking the fire. “Aren't you eating anything?”

“I ate something when I got in last night,” Jack replied, not looking up.

Brock frowned, taking a swallow of the milk. “Can't have been much—considering how terribly worried you must have been about me.”

Turning to smirk at him, Jack admitted, “I was far more worried once I _saw_ you. But I had some cold chicken and bread as I walked here from the kitchens. So I'm fine. Don't worry about me.”

Brock rolled his eyes. “You could've asked the pages to bring you some food when they brought this for me.” He gestured to the still uneaten half of the chicken. “Unless you just expect me not to finish it.”

“I _expect_ ,” Jack said, voice and expression stern as he turned to face Brock more fully, “for you to eat until you are full.”

Taking another swallow of milk, Brock set the cup down. His belly was pleasantly stuffed—any more, and it might start to hurt. “I think I am, though.”

“All right.” Setting the poker back on the rack, Jack stood up and brushed his hands off on his trousers—the same pair he'd worn on the mission, with a dried slick stain on one thigh. “Let's get you bathed, then.”

Brock rolled his eyes as he dropped his napkin on the side of the tray. “Pretty sure you need a bath too, Jack.”

Jack flashed him a grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Might work best if we do it together.”

He had a tub of steaming water all ready in their bathing chamber—apparently the pages had been quite busy dropping off buckets outside their door while Brock ate. Jack made Brock stand next to the drain in the floor and poured warm water over him. “I've washed _myself_ plenty of times, Jack,” Brock grumbled as Jack began to soap his chest.

“How about a deal?” Jack suggested, dropping a kiss on the tip of Brock's nose. “You let me fuss over you, scrub you all over, even clean your hair, and I'll let _you_ scrub my back?”

Brock rolled his eyes, snorting. “If I wasn't still kind of weak and shaky, I'd punch you for suggesting such an unfair deal.”

Jack chuckled, running the soapy cloth against Brock's neck. “And you make my point for me.”

“You don't have to _enjoy_ me being helpless,” Brock grumbled as Jack poured more water over him to rinse off the soap.

“I see no reason for us both to be miserable,” Jack reasoned as he helped Brock step into the tub.

The hot water was amazing, and Brock groaned, letting his head loll back against the edge of the tub. He blinked his eyes open at Jack who was still standing, soaping his own belly. “You gonna do my hair soon?” Brock asked. His eyes flickered over the expanse of Jack's muscled torso. “Or should I just watch the show?”

“You can sleep if you want,” Jack shot back, running a soapy hand over his cock and making Brock's face heat. He flashed Brock a broad grin, and Brock tried _not_ to blush further at having been caught staring. Keeping his gaze on Brock's face, Jack pulled back his foreskin to soap around the head of his cock and Brock's mouth watered. Closing his eyes, Brock groaned inwardly at his body's continued foolishness. He was supposed to be _over_ the heat. And besides, that gigantic thing could never fit in his mouth anyway. Thoroughly stupid. Irrational and illogical. Maybe that was the downside to being an alpha: no one's mouth was big enough to fit such a massive cock. Too bad there wasn't even a single upside to being an omega. Brock made an unhappy face at that thought. “I'll do your hair soon enough,” Jack assured him, and Brock blinked grumpy eyes open to look at him again. “But I don't think a long soak could do you harm.” He dumped a bucket off water over his own head, and the light from the lamps glistened off a thousand gemstone drops of water as they clung to his sun-bronzed skin.

“ _Jaaack_ ,” Brock whined, worrying his lip and pouting.

“What?” Jack asked, looking an amusing mix of annoyed, fond, and worried as he set the bucket aside.

Brock made his eyes wide and a bit watery, further pronouncing his pout. “'M lonely when you're all the way over there.” Jack's brows twisted in what was likely incredulity mixed with honest worry, and Brock laughed. “Sorry. I figured if you were going to treat me like a baby, I might as well act like one. But, um.” He bit his lip, expression growing serious and genuinely vulnerable. “I am—I mean—” He turned his head to look up at where the stone wall met the rough wood of the ceiling. “I guess it's a—a symptom of the heat recovery thing...” He sighed.

Jack's fingers threaded gently through Brock's hair, and Brock looked up to see him crouched next to the tub. “You really do feel lonely?” Jack asked.

Brock offered him an apologetic grimace. “A bit.”

Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It's all right,” he whispered. Pulling back to look into Brock's face, he grinned. “I want to coddle you, and you want to be coddled.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don't see a problem.”

Heaving a sigh and rolling his eyes a bit, Brock admitted, “Guess not.”

Giving Brock's hair a quick tug, Jack reached for the soap and worked it through Brock's wet hair. As Jack's fingers massaged Brock's scalp, Brock let his eyes fall closed and his body go lax, arms floating in the water. “That's it,” Jack murmured. “That's good. So sweet like this.”

“But.” The water splashed a bit as Brock opened his eyes, hands grabbing the sides of the tub. His brow furrowed as he looked Jack. “I'm _not_ sweet. I'm _not_.” He swallowed, grimacing. He shook his head. “I'm the worst, the least omega-like omega in the history of omegas. I'm not gentle or nurturing or kind or soft or small or pretty.” If he were only a bit _taller_ , he would have made a pretty good _alpha_ , actually.

Sighing, Jack rocked back on his heels. He picked up a bucket of water, tapping the side of Brock's head with two fingers until Brock turned it straight again and let Jack pour the water over his hair, rinsing out the soap. “Of course you're not sweet—not _usually_.” Jack's fingers slid through Brock's hair, helping the second bucket of water do its work. “That's why it's so— _special_ when you're sweet for me.” He smiled a bit as he looked down into Brock's face, eyes glowing with affection and pride as he set the bucket aside. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you like this.” He gave Brock's wet hair a little tug. “And—” He ran a damp thumb over Brock's cheekbone. “You really don't think you're pretty?”

Brock laughed, unable to stop grinning so broad it kind of hurt. Stupid heat recovery. “You really think I _am_?”

“I think you're beautiful,” Jack said, leaning in to press a kiss to Brock's forehead.

o0o

Brock let Jack wrap him in a thick towel and carry him to bed. Jack's bunk—fitted out with fresh linens—of course, since Brock's was still in need of some serious clean up. Brock was far too impressed that Jack could in fact carry him to complain or protest. He did let out a mildly unhappy grunt when Jack plopped him down a little less gently than maybe he could have. Their mattresses were nothing but simple straw ticks, not silken featherbeds like the nobles favoured.

“Hey,” Jack checked as he rubbed at Brock's hair with a corner of the towel, “do you need me to stay with you? I was gonna get your bedding sorted out, but it can technically wait...”

“Tired,” Brock grumbled, yawning as he leaned into Jack's hand.

Jack chuckled. “Sleep then.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over Brock's cheekbone. “Did you want me to lie down with you?”

Brock shrugged, eyelids heavy. “Think I'll be okay.” He frowned slightly, looking up at Jack. “You tired? You had a mission—” His eyes widened. “You got attacked by a mountain cat! And—”

“Hey, hey,” Jack soothed, stroking Brock's cheek. He chuckled, low and rich. “I'm _fine_. Out of the two of us, I feel it's safe to say you're a lot more exhausted: you just had your very first heat.” He patted Brock's cheek gently. “So sleep now.”

Brock nodded, letting himself collapse against Jack's pillow, eyes falling shut.

o0o

When Brock woke, rolling over and blinking at the warm glow of the firelight, Jack was feeding handfuls of straw into the flames. Brock made a face, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I ruined the mattress after all?”

Jack glanced at him from where he was crouched on the hearth. “Yes, but the straw's old and was in need of a change soon anyway.” He raised one shoulder in a bit of a shrug, turning his gaze back to the fire. “And with you being as sick as you were, no one's going to question it being burned.”

Brock nodded, letting himself fall back against Jack's pillow. “What time is it, and have you even slept? Or eaten anything at all?”

“I ate,” Jack assured him. “And it's evening.”

Brock frowned. “What time was it when we had the bath?”

“Afternoon,” Jack replied.

Twisting up his face, Brock scratched at the hair on his naked chest. “Of the same day?”

Jack chuckled. “Yes; you really haven't slept that long.” Dropping the last of the straw into the fire and brushing his hands off on his trousers—clean ones, of course, after the bath—Jack turned to face Brock. “Are you hungry? I can have the pages bring us something—or go get us something myself, now that I can walk the corridors not smelling like slick.”

Brock grunted, shifting on the bed. “You like the smell of my slick.”

Standing up, Jack walked over—smiling a pleased, sharp smile. He sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on Brock's knee and giving it a little squeeze. “I do.”

Brock twisted his eyebrows at him, worried. “Do I still smell like it?”

Jack shook his head. “I can't smell it. I think an alpha would have to put his nose in your crotch to smell it.”

Brock snorted a laugh, unable to keep from grinning. “Wanna test that?”

Jack slid his hand up the inside of Brock's thigh under the sheet, raising one eyebrow at Brock. “Are you offering?”

Brock's brow furrowed. “Uh...maybe?”

Leaning forward, Jack buried his face in the sheet where it lay across Brock's naked hips, breathing deeply. His cheekbone brushed against Brock's flaccid cock. He groaned. “Yes,” he said, pulling back. “I wouldn't advise letting an alpha get that close.”

Snorting again, Brock rolled his eyes. “I'll take that under advisement.” But then he turned a worried frown on Jack. “But what about the bedding, the clothes? Couldn't an alpha—or even an omega—smell the slick on them?”

“Not,” Jack said, straightening up, “if I can help it.” He patted Brock's knee. “I've been soaking everything in a mixture of soap, blackmarrow, and that blue nettle tea. If necessary, I'll use wine vinegar as well. And speaking of the tea...” He stood up, walking to the table and pouring steaming liquid into a cup. “I made you some blackmarrow—I don't know if it's just because I've been so close to you during your heat, but you're starting to smell like an omega.” He handed the cup to Brock. “Just a bit, mind. And I don't smell any heat on you.”

Brock took a grateful sip of the fragrant tea. “Thank you.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, soft as it was from recent washing. He probably hadn't been drinking enough blackmarrow during his heat. Loosing track of time—loosing track of everything. He took another swallow of the tea. Gods, it was a good thing Jack was looking out for him.

o0o

“Dinner is served,” Jack said, kicking the door shut behind him as he carried a laden tray into the room. He quirked a brow at Brock in question. “Will we be dining at the table, or would you prefer to eat in bed?”

Brock grunted, sliding to the edge of the Jack's bunk to put his feet on the floor—Jack had swept and scrubbed it—even adding wine vinegar and a bit of both teas to the wash water—so it was clean. Likely cleaner than it had been even when new. He looked down at himself as the sheet slid off his lap. Looking up at Jack he said, “I'm not exactly dressed for dinner.”

Jack grinned broadly. “I _like_ how you're dressed.” He winked back at Brock as he set the tray on the table.

Rolling his eyes, Brock just pulled Jack's sheet around himself like a robe and shuffled to the table, seating himself on the stool—Jack had cleaned those with tea and wine vinegar as well. The wood had picked up a bit of the scent of slick, but Jack reported it gone now. He offered Jack a lopsided smile as Jack took the other stool. “Who knew taking care of an omega would be so much work, hey?”

“I rather thought it would be far more, honestly,” Jack said, ripping a piece of bread from the loaf and spreading it thickly with butter.

Brock's brows twisted with incredulity as he ripped off his own piece of bread. “How so?”

“Well.” Jack grimaced a bit, swallowing a bite of bread. “You are the only omega I know of who could fight off a _single_ wolf let alone an entire pack. I've seen you take on two full-grown armed alphas alone and win. Not just in the training yard, either. You couldn't have been made head of the strikeforce if you couldn't fight; you hold your own in battle, no matter who or what we're facing. You can build a fire, even without dry wood—you can _find_ dry wood if it exists. You can shoot both a crossbow and a longbow.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I'm not sure there's a weapon forged you couldn't use to devastating effect, given a little practice. You ride even better than I do. You can hunt, skin, and clean an animal—you're not much of a cook, but...” He shrugged, flashing Brock a grin. “Nobody's perfect.”

“Shut up,” Brock grumbled, shaking his head. He threw a piece of cheese at Jack and it bounced off his cheek. Jack snickered. Brock rolled his eyes, pulling a piece of fatty mutton from the bone and eating it. “I can't do any of those things if I'm laid up in heat.”

“True,” Jack agreed, helping himself to some of the mutton as well. “But _every_ omega goes into heat. That's the _only_ time I've seen you helpless.”

Brock ate another piece of mutton, chewing thoughtfully before washing it down with a swallow of wine. “But...you're helping—you're doing all this work—” He gestured to encompass the whole room. “To help me _hide_ the fact that I'm an omega.”

Jack took a sip of his own wine. “Brock, do you feel it's worth it—all this secrecy, all of it—so you can have the life you lead? For everyone to treat you as a beta rather than an omega?”

“Yeah,” Brock said, voice rough. He stared, eyes unfocused, at the edge of the table. He couldn't live as an omega. He just _couldn't_. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, glancing up to meet Jack's eyes.

Jack looked him squarely in the face. “Then you have your answer: it's worth the trouble. _You're_ worth the trouble.”

“Jack...” Tears stung hot and sharp at Brock's eyes, and he reached for Jack across the small table. Jack met him halfway, squeezing his hand in his strong grip. “Sorry,” Brock said, pressing roughly at his eyes with his napkin to staunch the tears. He drew a shuddering breath. “The— I guess I'm still—”

Jack gave his hand another squeeze. “It's all right.” He nodded towards the food. “Now eat.”

o0o

Jack cleared away the dishes then returned to where Brock still sat at the low table, staring into the fire. “Hey,” Jack said, running gentle fingers through Brock's hair. “C'mere.” He took Brock by the arms and pulled him to his feet. Brock swayed a bit against him and Jack's arms slipped around his chest. “You're tired.”

“I guess,” Brock admitted, shaking his head. He glanced over at his own bunk. “I don't have a mattress.”

Walking backwards towards his own bunk and pulling Brock along with him, Jack said, “We'll share mine. It's not exactly meant for two, but...”

“It's fine,” Brock replied, shooting Jack a bit of a tired smile, “so long as you don't mind stacking.” The backs of Jack's legs met the edge of the bunk and he sat, pulling at Brock until Brock slid into place straddling Jack's lap. Jack's hands found their way to Brock's hips, and Brock rumbled approvingly. He nosed at Jack's hairline, eyes closed, breathing deeply. “You smell good.” Much cleaner, of course, after the bath they'd shared, but still warm and comfortingly familiar.

Jack's thumbs brushed against Brock's hipbones. “I'm glad.”

Brock let himself slump a bit against Jack's solid frame. “Gods, I am tired.”

Jack hummed, tugging Brock a bit closer. “You don't really have a girl—just the healer _as a healer_ , right?”

“That's right,” Brock admitted, letting his forehead rest on Jack's muscled shoulder. Raina was nice, of course, and _very_ pretty—but that was sort of the problem, wasn't it? Even if they weren't both omegas, she'd be _far too good for him_.

“No one else who's going to come after my blood for deflowering you?” Jack checked.

Brock grunted. “Like who?”

“Parents, older siblings,” Jack suggested, “uncles...cousins...”

“Nope,” Brock said. “Everyone— My village burned to nothing two years after I left. If anyone who knew me got out alive...” He shrugged. “I was a skinny little kid back then.”

“Not the burly leader of a king's strikeforce,” Jack mused.

Brock twisted his fingers loosely in the folds of Jack's tunic. “Exactly. I was only about fourteen. And it's probably telling that no one came after me—my parents just let their little virgin omega son go wandering off to who knows where.” He snorted. “I mean, I'm grateful, because I didn't _want_ to go back, but I guess that just shows how much they cared.” They'd never had much time for him, anyway, unless they were yelling at him to be quiet or clean up or get out of the way.

“I grew up here in the city,” Jack said—despite how long they'd known each other, they really hadn't talked much about their pasts, much less their childhoods. So this was new. “My dam died when I was only eight. Never knew the sire. But of course I was an alpha, so I was brought here to the barracks to train. I got a bed, food, education—it wasn't a bad deal.”

“And you're still here,” Brock commented, smiling though Jack probably couldn't see it with most of Brock's face still hidden in Jack's shoulder.

“It's not a bad place to come back to,” Jack said. “Still have that bed—as hard and narrow as it is. And the food—which really isn't bad at all.”

“You still have to put up with me,” Brock pointed out reasonably.

“I've always considered that a perk rather than a downside,” Jack retorted. He tightened his grip on Brock's hips. “Always.”

“You wanna, uh, do something?” Brock asked, finally lifting his head from Jack's shoulder and arching his back as he stretched his sore muscles. “Before we sleep?”

Jack chuckled, grinning. “If you're offering...”

Brock swore softly, eyes closed as he pressed his forehead to Jack's. “It felt _good_ , Jack—gods, is it weird that I'd want to do it again?”

“Not weird at all,” Jack insisted, hands tightening on Brock's hips again. “The first time I fucked someone—she was a beta girl, just my age...I think I was fifteen at the time? Anyway, I wanted to do it again and again and again. It was _amazing_. It was like I'd found the best drug, the most potent, enticing _anything_ in existence.” He grinned broadly. “She was pretty eager too, at first. After about the third time in one day, though, she was exhausted and told me to go away. Said she was neither an omega nor in heat.” He chuckled softly, smiling wryly at the memory. “Of course, she found me the next day, pulled me into the tack room, told me firmly and in no uncertain terms that we were only doing this _once_ , and shoved her hand down my trousers.”

Pressing his face into the side of Jack's neck, Brock smiled, letting out a puff of air against Jack's skin. “Don't suppose you had too many objections.”

“Not a one,” Jack agreed. He chuckled again, shaking his head. But then he sobered, his fingers threading into the hair at the back of Brock's neck. “I don't suppose you had any young flings...of any kind.”

Pulling back a bit, Brock made a face. “Couldn't let anyone see me naked. So yes, that was my first time, and yes you 'deflowered' me.” He shoved at Jack's shoulder. “Should give your alpha pride a nice boost.”

Jack smiled at him. “Only if you liked it.”

Brock rolled his eyes. “Have I not made it obscenely obvious?”

Jack grinned blithely. “Don't mind hearing it multiple times.”

Brock snorted. “ _There's_ the alpha pride. Now put your cock in me again before I fall asleep.”

Laughing, Jack manoeuvred Brock out of his lap and on to his back on the bed. His smile softened as he looked down at Brock. “Would you mind if I used my tongue? At least to start?”

“Um.” Brock's brow furrowed. That _was_ supposed to feel good, but of course he wouldn't know from any personal experience.

“It's just...” Jack's gaze dropped to Brock's crotch. “You still smell a bit of slick when I get close enough, and—I didn't really get to taste it before.”

Groaning and laughing at once, Brock flung one arm across his eyes. “Yes, you stupid alpha. If you can find anything you like down there, have as much of it as you want.”

Jack's stubble scraped against the inside of Brock's thigh, making him shudder. He flashed Brock a grin. “I always like cunt, Brock.”

Any retort Brock might have had evaporated as Jack's tongue touched him, sliding warm and soft and wet and a little rough—but not really rough because it was far too soft and far too wet—between the lips of Brock's cunt. Brock swore. His hips jerked upwards, and Jack laughed, one hand coming to rest over Brock's hipbone. “ _Gods_ , Jack,” Brock panted.

“Good?” Jack checked, breath teasing his own saliva on Brock's skin.

Brock rolled his head from side to side on the pillow. “I might never let you have your tongue _back_ —and speaking of...” He narrowed his eyes at Jack, tilting his hips upward. “Get back to work.”

Jack grinned. “Only too happily,” he replied, dipping his head to kiss the lips of Brock's cunt. “You taste amazing, by the way.” His lips brushed against the edges of Brock's cunt as he spoke and Brock squeezed his eyes shut—he wasn't exactly producing gallons of slick anymore, not like when he was in heat, but...there was something there, wet and slippery, sliding out to meet Jack's eager mouth.

Brock's brow furrowed. “Is that—is that slick?”

Jack lifted his head, licking his lips and smiling at Brock. “I think so—sure smells like it.”

“But...” Brock continued to frown. “Omegas aren't supposed to produce it unless they're in heat—are they?”

Jack shrugged one shoulder. “Omegas always produce _something_ —I'm not sure if it's normally called 'slick' or if it's called something else or not called anything at all. Sorry. Not really the omega expert.” He flashed Brock a bit of self-deprecating smile. “But when an omega's in heat, there's so much more, and it smells better. You were just in heat, so.” He shrugged one shoulder again. “I imagine it takes a while to fully transition back to the regular stuff.”

“Right.” Sighing, Brock relaxed against the pillow. “That makes sense. Guess I should probably ask R—my healer friend about all this. Since she is in fact an 'omega expert'.”

Jack hummed agreement, his tongue sliding through the wet folds of Brock's cunt. Brock shuddered, one hand coming up tentatively to cup the side of Jack's head, fingers sliding into his hair. Jack made an appreciative sound, so Brock stroked him a bit, meditatively, as Jack continued licking, one hand curled possessively around Brock's thigh as the other came up to help spread the lips and allow his tongue greater access. When he began to plunge it inside, Brock couldn't help whining—and squirming. It felt _good_ , but not—not _enough_. Far too small and far too _soft_. “Still good?” Jack checked, breath warm and teasing on Brock's sensitive and sensitized flesh.

“Yeah,” Brock admitted, panting a bit. “But, um.” He squirmed, rocking his hips against the total lack of resistance, against the empty air.

“What's wrong?” Jack asked, voice soft and tinged with concern.

“I—” Brock squeezed his eyes shut. “I think I might want your cock after all.”

Jack chuckled, grinning and turning to press a damp, messy kiss to the inside of Brock's thigh. “No objections here.” Sitting up, Jack stripped off his tunic, pausing to wipe his mouth on it, then tossed it aside to work the laces of his breeches.

“Oh,” Brock said softly. Jack had been _clothed_ this entire time while Brock himself lay bare and exposed. To be fair, Brock had worn nothing but sheets and towels since...since Jack had first come back and had him strip off. It was just more _intimate_ when Jack was licking his cunt than when Jack was bringing him food or cleaning their quarters. Shouldn't they both be naked for something like this?

“Hmm?” Jack looked up as he paused with his trousers at his hips.

“Nothing,” Brock said, shaking his head. It would be pointless to protest Jack's clothing while Jack was in fact in the process of removing it all. Internally, Brock rolled his eyes at himself. Jack slid his trousers the rest of the way off, and Brock pushed himself partway up to sit, looking at that still impressive cock. Would it eventually become mundane, if they kept doing this? Would it some day lose its aura of wonder?

Jack flashed him a blithe smile. “Still like what you see?”

Brock nodded, not even bothering to be embarrassed. “If I touched it—just with my hand—would it still knot?”

Jack tilted his head to one side, expression thoughtful. “It _can_. It doesn't feel nearly as good that way, though.”

Brock wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “But you can't—you can't finish without knotting?”

“Not really, no,” Jack admitted. “That's, I suppose, one of the things that isn't so great about being an alpha.” He shrugged. “Betas can get themselves off easy enough with their own hands. And they don't have to wait an hour for the damn thing to go down each time.” Fair enough; that kind of had to be inconvenient. Why did everyone want to be alphas, again?

“And what about mouths?” Brock asked before his brain could remember why that might not be the best thing to say. He ducked his head. “I mean, beta males like to have their cocks sucked...”

Jack laughed. “Yeah, you noticed it wouldn't fit, hey?” Brock nodded, annoyed at the heat in his own cheeks. Jack continued, “Most alphas, yeah, we can't find anyone with a mouth big enough to take it—even just the head, really. But it can still feel good to have someone kiss or lick at it.” He shrugged. “They tell us we're supposed to be _breeding_ , anyway—it's what it's for, the alpha's cock, the knot.” He made a face. “As if every alpha needs or even wants a whole brood of brats chasing after his heels.”

“You ever put it in someone's arse?” Brock asked—and, gods, he really was too tired to be having any sort of civilized conversation, wasn't he?

Jack gave him a surprised look, twisting his brows. “For a virgin, you sure know about things, don't you?”

Brock shrugged. “Beta guys _talk_.”

Jack laughed. “They surely do.” He pressed his lips together for a moment. “But no, never in an arse, because that could really...really hurt the other person if done wrong—and unless this was an omega in heat, we'd need some sort of oil or something to use as slick...” He sighed, shrugging. “It's supposed to feel good that way, sure, but it becomes much more complicated when you're working with a knotting alpha cock; cock-in-arse is much more of a beta thing to do—or, I guess, a male omega could do it to someone...” He shrugged again, looking at Brock. “If he wanted.”

Brock quirked an eyebrow, unable to suppress the crooked little smile teasing at his lips. “You wanna try that sometime?”

Jack laughed, loud and surprised, shaking his head. “Maybe,” he conceded after a moment. “Maybe. But we really should've done it while you were in heat—all that slick just pouring everywhere, woulda made it easy to slick everything up.”

“So,” Brock checked, wanting to be sure he understood, “you'd be okay with having my cock up your arse?”

Jack laughed. “Sure.” He gave Brock's thigh a squeeze, just above the knee. “If you wanted to try that.”

Brock snorted softly, one side of his lips flicking upwards. “I suppose you're not scared of my tiny little omega cock—couldn't really hurt you, hey?”

Tilting his head to one side and raising one shoulder in a vague shrug, Jack ran one large hand over the still mostly hard curve of Brock's cock. “It could, potentially—if we weren't careful.” Brock groaned, letting his eyes fall closed and his head fall back against the pillow as he ground his hips up into Jack's hand. Jack closed his fingers around Brock's cock, grinning and chuckling. “Less talk, more action, hey?”

“Yeah,” Brock gasped, laughing breathlessly. “I guess.”

Lining himself up between Brock's legs, Jack teased at the entrance with the head of his cock. Brock groaned, shifting his hips, relishing the feel of Jack—hot and hard and insistent—against his eager flesh. “Gods, Jack,” he groaned. He blinked up at Jack. “How the hell does it _fit_?”

Jack shrugged one broad shoulder, large hands resting on Brock's thighs. “You stretch.”

“Right.” Brock laughed, rocking his hips experimentally to make the head of Jack's cock start to slide inside. “A cunt's meant to stretch big enough to let a babe out, so I guess even an alpha cock's nothing compared to that.”

Jack leaned in to press a kiss to Brock's temple, sliding a little further in. “I guess not.”

Groaning, Brock flexed around Jack's cock. He stroked his fingers through the hair on the side of Jack's head. “Think I could make you knot just like this? Or was that just an 'in heat' response...thing?”

“Oh, don't worry,” Jack replied, eyes closed and breath ghosting over Brock's cheekbone, “you definitely could if you tried hard enough.” He rocked his hips back and forth, working his cock a little deeper. “But...I think it'd work better if it was a bit further in and—well, if you made me knot before the knot itself was inside you, it might make things...awkward?”

Brock laughed, hooking one leg around the back of Jack's thigh. “Might make things _easier_ , actually; we wouldn't be stuck together.”

“All right,” Jack conceded. “Point. But it'd feel _so_ much better if you let me get all the way in.”

He made big, hopeful eyes at Brock, and Brock laughed, slapping him on the bicep. “Don't worry, Jack; I wanna feel your knot in me again.” He flexed his cunt and rocked his hips as if to prove the point.

“Yeah,” Jack murmured, stroking his fingers through Brock's hair and grinning. “You liked that.”

Brock grunted. “I was in heat.” He shifted a bit, trying to get a better angle as Jack's enormous cock sank into him. “Not sure I had much choice—you touching me in any way felt amazing.” And of course the knot was the whole point of being in heat, so of course it felt good too. Felt the best. It just made sense.

“Okay, but,” Jack said, stroking the backs of his fingers against Brock's cheek, “it still feels good now, right?”

“Yeah,” Brock admitted, smiling. “It does.” He tightened his cunt, squeezing at the welcome resistance of Jack's thick cock inside him. “Different, of course—there isn't the whole, ugh, headache and cramping and all that.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “I think, overall, it feels _better_? So far, anyway.”

Jack panted a bit, pressing his face into Brock's neck and breathing deep. “Good—that's good—that it's better. That's—well, you wouldn't want it to get worse each time.”

Brock shifted again, rocking his hips. “Doesn't really get better every time, though, does it?”

“Not really.” Jack laughed. “But it's kind of a general trend, I think, as you learn what you're doing, and what feels good, and...” He laughed again, breathless. “Gods, Brock, you talk a lot for a guy who was claiming to be tired.”

Brock grimaced a bit, chuckling. “I think I'm running my mouth so much specifically _because_ I'm tired. And maybe it's a heat recovery thing too.” He twitched one shoulder in a shrug. “Like being drunk.”

“It's fine,” Jack assured him, nosing at Brock's cheekbone. “I'm just—I guess I'm tired too, and you're a million questions while I'm trying to get my cock in you, and it's _distracting_.”

Brock's brow furrowed. “Which is distracting? The talking or the cock thing?”

Jack laughed. “Both, I guess—one distracting from the other.”

“Poor alpha brain can't keep up?” Brock teased, wiggling his hips.

Jack made a negative sort of grunt as he thrust in a bit farther. “Exactly. Poor alpha brain just wants to fuck.” He thrust again as if to prove the point.

“Yeah, well,” Brock countered— _elegantly_ —as he returned Jack's thrusts with a few upward hip motions of his own, “I'm no longer in heat, so I can _think_ now, and I'm curious is all.”

“And that makes sense,” Jack admitted, pressing his forehead to Brock's and closing his eyes. “But...um, I think I had some point or something. Something I was going to say.” He grimaced, dropping his head to rest his brow against Brock's shoulder instead.

Brock laughed. “I think maybe you made your point anyway.” That was adorable, honestly, how Jack couldn't think, couldn't carry on a coherent conversation. A heady rush of power thrummed through Brock. He wiggled his hips a bit. “I think you're almost all the way in now.”

“Yeah, um.” Jack shifted on top of Brock, sliding his cock a bit further in. “Yeah, almost. Just a bit more if I'm gonna knot inside.”

Brock wrapped his legs around Jack's back, hooking his ankles together and pulling Jack towards him. “Please do.” He swallowed. “Please, Jack.”

Jack groaned and swore and bottomed out. They were pressed together as close as physically possible. Brock shuddered. It wasn't quite as intense as it had been the first time, but it was also...more sharp and pronounced, like fog had lifted. He rolled his hips, groaning at the feeling of Jack's cock shifting inside him, the sheer size of it, filling and stretching him. Jack's teeth scraped over Brock's collarbone, and Brock gasped. Jack's mouth moved to one of Brock's nipples worrying it a bit and then latching on—it was absurd, in a way, for such a huge man to suckle at his chest like a babe, but it also...something Jack was doing with his tongue felt like lightening under Brock's skin. He gasped, arching up as his cunt spasmed around Jack's cock. Unrelenting, Jack moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Brock's fingers threaded through the dark curls at the back of Jack's neck, twisting and clutching with the pleasure, blunt nails digging into the flesh of Jack's neck. (If it hurt, Jack was unlikely to admit it, alpha pride and all that.) Jack groaned and released Brock's nipple, panting hot breath against his skin as he swore. “Gonna knot soon. _Hell_.”

“Wanna get in a few good thrusts first?” Brock asked, fingers stroking soothingly through Jack's hair.

“Not sure if I _can_ ,” Jack admitted, voice tight.

“I'm fine like this, just so you know,” Brock told him, continuing to stroke his hair. “Won't be disappointed at all if you just go ahead and knot me.”

“Yeah.” Jack laughed, pushing up a bit so he could grin down into Brock's face. “You're all about my knot, aren't you?”

Brock favoured him with an unrepentant look and raised one eyebrow. “Seems it's the _only_ upside to being an omega.” He twitched one shoulder, slowly clenching his cunt. “Figure I'm entitled.” Jack growled, low and rumbling, hiding his face in Brock's neck. Brock shifted for a better angle and rolled his hips again, running his nails roughly down Jack's back—stopping at the meat of Jack's arse to dig all ten nails in, greedy and demanding, as he deliberately worked Jack's cock. Jack swore roughly and his hips jerked forward, shoving Brock a little up the bed because he honestly couldn't get any further in, and his knot swelled. “Ah,” Brock panted. “There it is.”

Jack swore roughly again, hot breaths insistent against Brock's neck. “Greedy omega.”

“You like it.” Brock pressed a kiss to Jack's shoulder, running his hands over Jack's hair, shoulders, sides. The knot stretched and filled him, sending waves of pleasure through him, all the way to the tips of his finger and toenails, all the way to the tips of his _hair_. (And if that was impossible, it didn't matter, because it still happened.) It was still less intense than the first time, the 'heat' time, but still wondrous. Less of a 'relief' and more pure pleasure in its own right. “Jack,” he slurred, “you're amazing.”

Jack hummed sleepily. “Want me to flip us over—like last time?”

Brock made a noncommittal type of noise. “You can just sleep like this if you want...'m not—not small or delicate.”

Jack grunted, nibbling again at Brock's collarbone. “I noticed.” He ran his tongue over the worried skin. “I'm still bigger.”

Brock punched him in the shoulder—not very hard, considering he could barely move. “Shut up. Just—” He couldn't help laughing, and he kissed the side of Jack's head, tasting freshly-washed hair. “Just go to sleep.”

o0o

The night air hung cool and quiet around Brock as he rapped on the familiar wood of Raina's door. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, answered by another, somewhat closer. The latch slid, and the door swung open, hinges creaking a little.

“Brock.” The light from the familiar lamp in her hand caught golden in her dark eyes as she moved back to admit him.

He followed Raina up the narrow stone steps and sat in that same high-backed chair. “I, uh—” he began as she set the lamp on a table and seated herself in a chair facing him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “I guess this is earlier than you expected—it hasn't quite been a month yet.”

“It hasn't quite been a week,” Raina clarified, the corners of her mouth turning up.

“Right.” Brock nodded. “Well Jack—that's the one I share quarters with, the alpha—he insisted I come see you...just to make sure everything's all right, that I'm not dying after all.” He grimaced. “I kinda— Um, well, he knows I'm an omega—I told him, but he was going to figure it out anyway, and...” He drew a deep breath and let it out. “It's sort of a long story, but he's keeping my secret— _helping_ me keep it, even.”

“That's good,” Raina said, lips curving into a soft smile. “And I take it you still have your job.”

“Yeah.” Brock let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “For now—I mean, I can't just take a few days off to be sick on a regular basis, but...” He rolled his shoulders awkwardly.

“On that, I do have— _tentative_ —good news,” Raina said, adjusting the edge of her apron with her small dark hands. “I should have a reliable supply of Genoshan flamefoil by the end of the fortnight.”

Brock let out a breath, closing his eyes. “That's—that's very good news.” He flashed her a hesitant grin. “Even if it is tentative at this point, as you say.”

Raina smiled—quiet, but warm and bright. “So.” She brushed some flecks of dried pale green leaf—possibly mint—off her apron. “What was so concerning that your alpha friend insisted you see me?”

“Well.” Brock grimaced. “I woke up this morning, having bled all over the bed—which, I really should have expected, but I didn't, and I sort of freaked out for a bit, and he had to calm me down, but neither of us knew how much blood was normal, and it really seemed like a _lot_...” He grimaced again, feeling a fool. They'd had to burn Jack's mattress as well, since the blood had soaked through to the straw. The rest of the bedding they'd washed—well, _Jack_ had washed it, still uncomplaining at the utter annoyance of caring for someone so grossly impractical as an omega.

Raina shifted in her chair, sitting forward. “Are you still bleeding now?”

Brock shook his head. “It stopped by mid afternoon. But Jack said...” He shrugged.

“He was quite insistent,” Raina filled in, the corners of her mouth turning up, “this alpha of yours, quite concerned for your health and well-being.”

“He's not my—” Brock protested, spluttering a bit.

Raina laughed softly, reaching out to place a small hand on his knee. “It's all right. He sounds like a worthy one, either way.” She patted his knee. “But you don't look pale to me, and you were obviously able to walk here, so I think it's safe to say you're fine. Do continue to keep yourself hydrated, of course, but it is normal for omegas to bleed after what is called an 'unsuccessful' heat, and the bleeding can be alarming as it often looks like so much as it comes so fast—it's not like a beta woman, who can bleed for a week each month; your bleeding happens in less than a day, as part of your heat recovery, once the body determines no conception has happened. The actual volume of the blood is not much more than that lost by a beta woman during her monthly bleeding, but...it _can_ be quite shocking.”

“The upside being, I get the bleeding over with just like that?” Brock quirked one eyebrow at her, and she nodded. He blew out a breath. “But, um.” He chewed on his lip. “The bleeding—it means I'm not pregnant.”

Raina nodded. “It does.” Thank the Mother for her mercy. “So, from _your_ perspective, I assume your first heat was as 'successful' as possible.”

Brock chuckled, nodding a bit. “Yeah.” It was pretty stupid that everyone generally assumed every omega would like to get pregnant every time they went into heat. He made a face. “Gods, it was awful. But the blue nettle worked—Jack, uh, he couldn't smell the heat on me until after I told him, and even then he couldn't smell anything most of the time. Thank you for that.” Raina nodded, smiling. “And, I mean,” Brock continued, “I still have my job, so I'd say my first heat went as well as I could have hoped.” Maybe a bit better, if he was being honest. “So I guess since I'm fine...” He stood up. “I'll just—come back in a fortnight to check if you've got that flamefoil.”

Raina nodded again, standing up to show him to the door. “Feel free to bring your alpha with you sometime; he's welcome if you want him here.”

Brock shook his head, chuckling in embarrassment. “He's not—” But it didn't really matter; Jack was as close as Brock was ever going to get, wasn't he? And, honestly, he was as good an alpha as Brock could have ever hoped for—better, actually, because he turned out to be a better alpha than Brock had expected. Not that he was 'Brock's alpha'. Because he wasn't.

o0o

When Brock arrived back at his quarters, Jack was waiting for him. “I'm fine,” Brock told him before he could say anything. “I'm completely fine; everything's normal and healthy and good.”

Jack visibly relaxed as though he'd been all but _holding his breath_ , and Brock kind of wanted to hit him but also kind of wanted to smile, because it was grossly _endearing_ that he cared so much. “I—” Jack began after a moment, turning and picking something up off his bunk. “I had Mel make these,” he explained, holding out two sheathed daggers. “From the mountain cat's teeth.” The teeth, pale yellow and regally curved, made the handles. Jack slid one of the blades partway out of its scabbard. “The blades are an adamantine alloy.” He shrugged, tilting his head to one side. “I had a bit of money—figured it was worth it.”

Brock nodded, suitably impressed. “They're great, Jack. Exquisite, honestly.” His brow furrowed. Lightweight and easy to conceal, daggers made good backup weapons or for situations when larger weapons would be impractical. And the adamantine, though certainly expensive, produced exceptional blades. Usually, a person would only need _one_ , though. “But why—?”

“I thought—two teeth, might as well do a pair.” Jack's eyes met Brock's. “One for me, and one for you.”

“Oh,” Brock said softly. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “But when did you—?”

“On the way back, I asked Clint to drop the teeth off, gave him a note with instructions for Mel,” Jack explained. “So they were ready today.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It's not really a big deal, just, y'know, daggers, but...I thought maybe...they could...mean something.” He wet his lips nervously, pushing the daggers a little towards Brock. “Do you like them?”

Brock couldn't help grinning. “I _love_ them.” He paused before touching though, and asked, “Are they identical?”

“Almost,” Jack replied. “They've got our initials etched into the blades, though—here.” Turning the one dagger over, he indicated the 'B' on the blade, just under the hilt. “So this one's yours; mine has a 'J'.”

Brock took it, enjoying the feel of it in his grip. Pulling it the rest of the way out of the sheath, he played with it a bit in his hand, testing the balance. “Mel always does good work,” he mused, “but it helps when he's got exceptional materials.” Tearing his eyes from the beautiful weapon, he met Jack's gaze again. “Thank you. Really, thank you.” He laughed, shaking his head as he dropped his gaze once again to the blade where it lay gleaming in his hand. “You must have really believed I wasn't going to die if you were willing to shill out the gold for adamantine.”

“Why do you think I was so insistent that you not die?” Jack retorted. “Couldn't let such an investment go to waste!”

Sliding the dagger back into its sheath, Brock slung an arm around Jack, pulling him close in a sort of half-hug. He grinned up at him. He should probably say something, but _what_? The daggers were beautiful, and it meant something that Jack wanted them to mean something, but as much as that absolutely made sense inside Brock's head, it would sound really stupid to try to say it aloud. So instead he kissed him.

That was almost as good as talking, wasn't it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> 'Adamantine' is one of the alternate names for adamantium used in the Elder Scrolls universe. Here, it's a more 'medieval' sounding name for the adamantium seen throughout Marvel canon.  
> 'Mel' is Melvin Potter who appears in DD.  
> 'Clint' is of course Clint Barton, who here is a member of the king's strikeforce along with Brock, Jack, Nat, and unnamed others.


End file.
